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Hotline To Heaven

by Darrell Bain

Copyright © 2001 Darrell Bain

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Romance

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Duplication or distribution of this work by email, floppy disk, network, paper print out, or any other method is a violation of international copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment.

Dedication

To my mother, who asked for a romance. Sorry, mom—I got carried away.

Table of Contents

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter One

It was the Christmas season, but Ed “Boilerroom” Tanner was having trouble getting into the spirit. His last trip to Las Vegas had a lot to do with that. It was hard for him to feel Christmassy when his bank account was as flat as an anemic tapeworm. He ambled slowly along the sidewalks of downtown Houston, shoulders slouched, with no particular destination in mind. He avoided bumping into the throngs of shoppers and lunch-hour pedestrians as he automatically scanned the passing faces, looking for that hint of innocence and gullibility that might be suborned into donating enough cash for another stake, or at least enough for a place to sleep tonight. He knew the look well, having made his living from it all his life, or at least since leaving home. It never occurred to him that perhaps he carried that same countenance on his own features when he was flush. He ascribed his losses in Vegas to pure bad luck, never supposing that his erstwhile partner had set up the apparent accidental meeting with the bimbo there, after they’d concluded their last scheme.

Ed’s thoughts drifted back to that operation as he walked, idly jingling the few quarters in his pockets against each other. It had gone well at first. Scrappie Brown had provided the new mailing lists they worked from, and the up-front financing needed to get started, using his expertise to run the swindle and supervise the phone operators. Like most of his operations, it worked beautifully. There was something deep in human nature that always made a certain number of contacts respond favorably to the idea of a free lunch or low-cost aluminum siding that would never need painting again. In this case, the free award had been title to plots of land in the piney woods of east Texas in return for title search fees. The awards were legitimate enough, though a little after the fact, something the operators never disclosed. The initial income from prize recipients was used to purchase a number of useless swampy acres with a small down payment. An itinerant out of work landsman was induced to cursorily survey and subdivide the land into ranchettes, then follow-up letters were used to solicit more money in the form of joint attorney’s fees. Those still responding were preyed on again for assessments supposedly going for maintenance, lawn and garden care. They really did hire a gardener, although he spent more time fishing in lower levels of the acreage than mowing it. It was only one form of a timeless scam. Once money was invested in the free prize, the recipients generally hung in there, thinking each new payment would be their last.

It had been a good operation, well thought out and almost legitimate. It was the letters that got them in trouble. Damn it, they should have stuck to phones. There were so many Boiler Rooms operating in the country that it might have been years before the feds got around to them, if they had just stuck to that, but no, Scrappie had to get greedy.

Ed conveniently forgot that he had gone right along with Scrappie, hoping to parlay the scam into a big enough boodle to think of getting out of phone solicitation and back into more direct swindles. He missed the direct human contact of first gaining a sucker’s confidence, then abusing it, like coaxing a reluctant kitten into jumping at a twitching string, then jerking it away.

Actually, the final payout from the bogus property scam hadn’t been that bad. After the postal inspectors began nosing around, they conveniently declared bankruptcy, took the agreed upon kickback from the attorney to whom they had funneled most of the money, and headed for Las Vegas in high good humor, ready to play a little before starting over in some other city far removed from Tulsa. Houston had seemed like a good bet. It was thriving again, having recovered from the great oil bust of the eighties. He made his reservations and bought his airline ticket before beginning to play. Sometimes it paid to have an escape hatch ready, just in case he got caught slipping an extra ace or his own dice into a game, something he was loath to do unless absolutely necessary. He did maintain some standards.

That hadn’t been the problem this time. Ed thought about it and smiled ruefully. That little bimbo! She had looked as innocent as a Barbie Doll, and turned out to be as rapacious as a hungry shark beneath that bubbly exterior. He still couldn’t quite figure out just how she had induced him to bring his whole nut with him that last night, just in case he needed to back up a big bet, but by that time the pull of his gonads had eclipsed his good sense. When he cashed out, he never suspected a thing when she offered to redeposit his whole wad with the cashier while he went back to the room.

“Go ahead and get yourself a nice hot shower, and order us an extra bottle of champagne so you’ll be all ready for me when I get there,” she said.

Six hours later, he finished the last of the champagne by himself and went to bed by himself. He didn’t even try to get dressed and go looking for her, knowing in his drunken misery it would have been useless. The next morning he checked his luggage at the Southwestern Airline terminal and headed for Houston.

Ed continued to muse and walk, wishing that the last of his money spent the previous night in the hotel bar on a likely looking old biddy had paid off, but it turned out that she had to go back to New York that same night, and was evidently just amusing herself with the attentions of the good-looking younger man until it was time to leave for the airport. Now he really was broke. Unless something turned up, he was going to have to cash in the one remaining night he had paid for at the hotel, just to raise enough money to eat. Where he would sleep and store his luggage, he didn’t know.

As he drifted east along Louisiana Avenue, it seemed that every likely spot sported a Salvation Army Santa Claus, ringing a bell to draw attention to the big iron pot of money he guarded. As Ed approached a major intersection, there was another one. This Santa was accompanied by a young woman shaking a tambourine. Ed didn’t see her at first. He felt of the quarters in his pocket, wondering whether to toss one in the pot, just for luck. He had kind feelings for the Salvation Army, having accepted their overnight hospitality on occasion, though only as a last resort. He didn’t mind the bare furnishings of their missions, nor the stale pastries and weak coffee they sent vagrants off into the mornings with; it was the praying over the recipients of their largess he could hardly abide. Nevertheless, he had to admit that they were always there when he needed them. The thought cemented his decision. A spare coin wouldn’t get him prayed over. He pulled a quarter from his pocket and tossed it into the pot, wishing at the same time that he owned the heap of bills and coins it joined.

“Thank you, sir.” The voice was pure honey, as light and sweet as a chord from an angel’s harp.

Ed’s eyes tracked up to the source of the voice. He beheld a young woman with a face as beautifully sweet and saintly as the voice, framed by golden wavy hair falling to the shoulders of her uniform dress. Below the shoulders rose high young breasts, pushing tautly at her blouse as if they were straining to be let free. Ed looked no further. So much unsullied beauty above the waist would almost have to be accompanied by matching pulchritude below. If she ran a mission, he wouldn’t mind being prayed over.

“You’re welcome, ma’am,” he said. “I only wish I could give more, but that was the last quarter to my name.” Almost immediately, he wished he hadn’t told the lie, even though it was very near to the truth. Why, he couldn’t say. In his business, lies came to his lips as easily as Vodka to a Russian’s.

“Why, how generous of you, then. God will surely reward you,” the young woman said, taking full notice of Ed for the first time. She beheld a slim, medium-tall man who appeared to be in his early thirties, dressed in a conservative gray, expensive looking suit. A breeze tousled his wavy dark hair and caused a lock of it to fall to his forehead. She thought it a very nice forehead, the better to go with his pleasant, even-featured face and alert brown eyes.

“Yes, I’m sure He will,” Ed said. “Perhaps He will help me find a place to sleep tonight.” It was just idle chatter, meant to keep her talking, and him in her presence for a few moments. He couldn’t help staring at the angelic face. Yes, it was innocent and probably gullible, but he had learned that when those characteristics were associated with religion, there was seldom enough money to go with them to make tricking them out of it worth his while. He wondered why such a beauty was working for the Salvation Army. Didn’t she realize what she had?

“God cares for the homeless, as you must surely know. If all else fails, come to us tonight. Our mission is on Alabama street, three blocks over and one down.” She smiled, causing faint dimples to appear, making her look as refreshingly pure as a teenage girl in her first prom gown. Her intentions were pure, but inside, she felt a little tug of attraction toward the attractive, well-dressed stranger, a pull that had induced the invitation. His appearance was far removed from the usual homeless males she dealt with, or any other male, for that matter. A strict Pentecostal upbringing combined with an education at an all-girls school had left her vulnerable. She felt color rising to her cheeks, and dropped her gaze, hurriedly bringing it back up after it descended to the level of Ed’s pants.

Ed couldn’t help it. He felt the same strange attraction, and his body was responding like a well-trained soldier on maneuvers. He tried to picture cold showers and freezing blizzards, but his mind insisted on remaining in concert with his groin. He said, “If I should have to look for help tonight, should I ask for you?”

“Why, yes, you could, though it isn’t strictly necessary. I’m sister Violet. Violet Smith.”

“My name is B—” Ed faked a cough, then backed up. Damn it, why had he ever let himself be saddled with that nickname? “—Ed Tanner. I’m very pleased to meet you.” A passerby dropped a bill into the pot, jostling him closer to Violet. He didn’t mind a bit, though he wondered what on earth he thought he was doing. He had as much business coming on to this angelic creature as a peasant did sitting down to dinner with a king.

Apparently someone else thought the same. Santa stopped ringing his bell, and stared suspiciously at him. Ed managed a guilty, little-boy smile. He shuffled his feet in a good imitation of a farm boy facing a preacher who suspected him of using haylofts in more ways than as a repository for cattle food. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m keeping you from your business. Nice meeting you, Miss Smith.” He held out his hand.

Violet took it. She felt her fingers tingling, and wondered what on earth she thought she was doing. She had as much business responding to a strange man at least ten years her senior, as Judas did throwing a friendly arm around Jesus before the crucifixion. “It was good to meet you, too, Mr. Tanner. I’m sure God will help you find a place to stay tonight.”

“Yes, I’m sure He will,” Ed said. “Goodbye.” He almost said goodbye for now. Whether God was helping or not, he already knew where he was going to be spending the night. He walked away with his shoulders back, his slouch gone.

Behind him, Santa remonstrated, “You really shouldn’t get quite so familiar with strange men, sister.”

“I’m sorry, deacon. He seemed so nice, and he did say he gave us his last cent.”

“So he did. Well, let’s get back to work.” He rang his bell at passersby while Violet tried to keep in tune with her tambourine, but her thoughts shifted to her past encounters with the male species. There hadn’t been many. Her parents hadn’t allowed her to begin dating until she was seventeen, and then only under strictly supervised conditions. The one time before high school graduation she had been alone with a boy had been singularly unimpressive. His attempts to kiss her were clumsy and groping, and the peck she had finally allowed only inspired him to try for more. She didn’t allow it, though some wrestling and finally a rush from the room was necessary before he gave up.

Violet didn’t think she was a prude. She wondered about sex as much as any virgin ever had, but had had little more opportunity than a cloistered nun to put wonderment into practice. Not, she thought, that I ever would before marriage. Perhaps if her parents hadn’t died together in a car crash only a year ago, they might have begun allowing her more freedom to meet interesting and eligible men after graduation, but it hadn’t happened that way. They had died, leaving her destitute. Somewhere along the way, her father had made a will, leaving all his worldly possessions to the Salvation Army. In appreciation of the windfall, they had cared for her ever since, giving her a job and a place to sleep. Violet appreciated the care, though sometimes she wondered if it wouldn’t be better if she got out on her own, rather than living as she had this past year, in a sparsely furnished room at the mission and helping the Army with their Holy work. Somehow, though, she had never quite gained the courage to make the break. Thinking of it made her feel guilty, as if by leaving, she would be abandoning God’s work, perhaps even deviating from His plan for her, whatever His ultimate goal. She pushed the thought away. It was replaced almost immediately by a picture of Ed Tanner’s boyish face and politely shuffling feet. Maybe God intended for him to play a role in her life. She laughed inwardly at the thought. What an idea!

Ed headed back toward his hotel to cash in his remaining day and collect his luggage. He no longer scanned the faces of pedestrians on the crowded sidewalks, but his mind was busy. The talk about God with Violet Smith had brought on a tingling awareness of something as yet undefined, stirring just beneath conscious thought. He knew the feeling well; it was as if bells were trying to ring in his mind while their clappers were still dampened, or like a pacing animal in a zoo, looking for an exit from its cage. Whenever he felt this sensation of buried thoughts, like a pot nearing the boiling point, it eventually resulted in a grand new idea. He didn’t know what would come to the surface this time, but he knew it had something to do with God. Religion? The Salvation Army? Or was it just his imagination working overtime, stimulated by his response to Violet? No, he knew the feeling too well. Before long, a day or two at most, a word, a phrase, a sign of some kind would act as a catalyst and bring the idea to the surface where he would refine it, give it definition and being, and finally he would turn it into action. His stride became more buoyant, knowing that before long he would be back into a moneymaking scheme of some kind, hopefully one that didn’t involve too much work, and was only moderately dishonest.

Chapter Two

Ed brought his luggage down to the lobby and then checked out, barely in time to meet the deadline before losing his refund from the last day. He pocketed the bills while thanking the powers that be that he had had enough sense to wire the money to the hotel with his reservations while he still had some. After that he asked the desk clerk to watch his bags, claiming that he had a ride coming to the airport, and headed for the lounge.

“What’ll you have?” the barmaid asked. She took a perfunctory wipe at the bar while he considered.

“Scotch on the rocks. No, wait. Make that a Vodka Collins.” He didn’t want to show up at the Salvation Army breathing scotch fumes.

He was grateful that the lounge was almost deserted. The barmaid tried making small talk with him for a few minutes until she saw that he wasn’t receptive, and retreated to the other end of the bar. Ed wanted to think, not talk. He lit a cigarette and watched the plumes of smoke rise and drift away. He sipped slowly at his drink and tried to force his mind to divulge the paradigm still trying to surface. God. Religion. Government. Government? What did that have to do with it? Violet. Was she involved? Surely not. Anyone that saintly would probably run like the devil from whatever scheme his subconscious was trying to hatch. Then why did he keep thinking of her? It wasn’t as if he had much of a chance, of getting her between the sheets. Still, he thought she might be a key to the scheme. Or perhaps she had merely stimulated the still-buried idea. But if that were so, then why was he so keen on spending the night at the Salvation Army?

The rest of the afternoon he turned these thoughts over in his mind, but still came no closer to getting them to jell. Three drinks and a pack of cigarettes later, he gave up. Checking his watch, he saw that it was late enough to head for the mission. The idea brightened him, like the fizz the soda added to the vodka he’d been drinking. He paid his tab, left a small tip, and headed back to the lobby.

The desk clerk gave him a dirty look, trying to tell him without words that he didn’t appreciate watching luggage all afternoon. Ed ignored him. He picked up his two suitcases, one small, one large, and headed out to the street. He disliked the idea of hiking the long blocks to the mission while carrying the luggage, but decided against a cab. What money he had left, he might need. The sidewalks were even more crowded than earlier. He constantly bumped shoppers with his bags, and soon began sweating. Even in mid-December, the heat and humidity in Houston sometimes made it feel tropical. He paused half a block from the mission to rest, wipe his face, and run a comb through his hair. Once there, he had to join a queue.

Ed waited patiently in the line made up mostly of odiferous men in stained work clothes, many of them unshaven and dirty, some carrying bindles. He felt out of place among them, but then he always did on the infrequent occasions when he was down on his luck. Damn that Barbie Doll bimbo, anyway. Violet would never do anything like that. Well, of course not, you dummy, he thought. In the first place, she wouldn’t have been in Las Vegas, and if by some circumstance she had been, she certainly wouldn’t have been gambling and sleeping with you.

He was third in line when the elderly clerk closed his book. “Sorry, gentlemen, that’s all the room we have for tonight. Try the city shelter.”

The two vagrants in front of him turned away dispiritedly. Ed stood stock-still. City. Government. Religion. One piece of the puzzle fell into place. The feds and local law seldom interfered with religious organizations. Not only that, they were tax exempt, which kept the IRS at a safe distance. Now why had he never thought of that before? Bemused, he turned to follow the vagrants, deciding to come back tomorrow evening, earlier this time. He really wanted to see Violet again, and had unconsciously been watching for her. In fact, once assigned a room, he had been hoping for a chance to talk to her, preferably out of sight of the protective deacon masquerading as Santa Claus.

For the previous two hours, Violet had been sitting in a small office alcove off the main lobby where she could keep an eye on the reception desk. Her gaze returned again and again to the line of men seeking shelter. She tried to hope that God had indeed provided for Ed Tanner, but couldn’t keep from wishing that she would spot him in the slowly moving line. Contrite, she bowed her head and uttered a silent prayer, asking forgiveness for her selfishness. When she looked back up, her face suddenly radiated sunshine. There he was! Far back in the line, carrying his luggage. She turned back to her clerical work, but watched the desk from the corner of her eye. Once he was admitted and headed for the dormitories and showers, she intended to step out of her alcove and speak to him, but then her peripheral vision caught him being turned away. Oh, no! Without thinking of the spectacle she might create, she jumped to her feet and rushed toward the desk.

“Mr. Tanner! Wait!” she shouted, then blushed as heads turned in her direction.

Ed recognized her voice. He turned around as Violet halted her headlong rush. “Why, hello again, Miss Smith. I’m glad to see you. I have been looking forward to it all afternoon.” He was inordinately pleased at her sudden appearance, glad that he wouldn’t have to wait another day to talk to her.

Before Violet could answer, she was interrupted by the elderly clerk. He ignored Violet and spoke to Ed. “I’m sorry, sir. As I said, we’re full up. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”

Ed hesitated. He knew the rules. If you weren’t admitted, you couldn’t hang around. Still, here the girl was, right in front of him.

Violet intervened. She turned to the clerk. “Oh, Mr. Wales, can’t you find one more place? Mr. Tanner gave us his last bit of money today. I told him we could put him up if he had no place to stay.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Violet, there just isn’t any more room. We’re packed, but I’m sure the city will take him. I called a while ago, and they still have some spots.”

“Oh, but it’s such a long walk, Mr. Wales, and he has a load to carry. Can’t you do something?”

“What’s all this?” a gruff male voice inquired as another person joined the trio. Ed recognized the voice, if not the face. The false white beard and red suit were gone, but it was the deacon, all right. Ed smiled as pleasantly as he could, and extended his hand. “Good evening sir,” he said, as respectfully as possible. The deacon took his hand reluctantly and gave it a limp squeeze before turning to the clerk and raising an inquiring eyebrow.

“We’re full,” Mr. Wales repeated. “I just told him so.” The clerk’s voice was raised above his usual mumble. He, like all the employees and volunteers at the mission, was protective of Violet; they had never had anyone so young, so beautiful and innocent on the premises before, at least not permanently.

Violet ignored the protective admonition. She looked up at the unmasked Santa, with her eyes as warm and blue as water in a tropical lagoon. She pleaded, “Oh, please, Deacon Wilshire. Can’t we find some room somewhere?”

The deacon got lost in her eyes. Before he quite knew what was happening, he had agreed to move a cot into an unused office and let Ed sleep there.

“Thank you sir,” Ed said. “You won’t regret it, and I’m sure God will bless you for your generosity. And thank you, Miss Smith. You are an angel.” Actually, Ed believed in neither God nor angels, at least not literally, but he was never loath to use whatever tools came to mind to further his ends.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Tanner. Enjoy your stay, and perhaps tomorrow you will find some employment.”

“I think I may already have a line on something,” Ed said, remembering his observation about government and religion, and its connection to the still indecipherable scheme percolating somewhere in the archives of his brain.

“Wonderful!” Violet exclaimed. “God helps those who help themselves.”

“Come this way Mr., uh, Tanner,” Deacon Wilshire said. He didn’t like the way Violet and the intruder were staring into each other’s eyes. If Ed hadn’t been so nicely dressed, he would have worried even more.

“Yes, sir.” Ed followed the deacon, but turned back briefly to throw a wink at Violet. She blushed prettily and hurried back to her little office, closed the files she had been perusing, then rushed upstairs to her drab little room to freshen up before the evening meal and service.

Ed spent the half hour beforehand making plans. He now knew that his burgeoning, though still hidden, idea would involve religion in some way, wild as the thought was, and that somehow Violet should be involved in it. Therefore he had to manage to stay in contact with her. He knew that he couldn’t simply hang around the mission waiting for chances to talk to her; that would be too conspicuous. Nor could he accost her on her corner during the day again; Deacon Wilshire was apparently already suspicious, even though he’d let Violet talk him into making room for the night here. Or could he? He took out his wallet and counted his remaining cash. It came to just under fifty dollars. And he had said publicly that he had a prospect of employment, though what he said and what he meant were two entirely different breeds of cat. Suppose he stopped back the next day and made another donation, then offered to take her to lunch? That might work. It’s worth trying anyway, he thought. See her privately, and maybe that itchy spot in his mind might get scratched. Then, ask for shelter again with the claim that he still lacked enough money for a room, and volunteer to work for his keep. No, better still, volunteer to help clean up tonight. That might hurry things along. He needed to hurry. What little cash he had left wouldn’t last long, not if he had to keep throwing some in the pot to stay in good grace.

Ed sang for his supper as heartily, if not more so, as any of the other supplicants. He remembered the words to the hymns from his childhood, back before he decided that religion held no meaning that he could sort out logically, and was only for the simple minded public. After the singing came the praying. Deacon Wilshire loaded his prayers with more and various mentions of God than a sack of colored marbles. Ordinarily, Ed would have put his mind in park during prayers, but tonight he stayed alert, hoping the frequent references to the Deity would cause another piece of the puzzle to fit into place. When it didn’t, he surreptitiously observed Violet’s bowed head from beneath lowered lids, and admired the way her golden hair caressed her cheeks and shoulders. His gaze drifted lower, and he chastised himself for his thoughts, though not very successfully. He might have to use her in some way, but she was no party girl, nor did he think there was much chance of turning her into one.

The meal consisted of a weak stew, day old bread and unsugared tea, picked up at a serving line and eaten on long, scratched tables and folding metal chairs. Ed ate hurriedly and carried his empty tray to the windowed opening of the kitchen where they would be cleaned. Violet had disappeared after exchanging no more than a glance with him on the serving line, and he hoped to spot her somewhere before having to go to his room. He deposited his tray in the window and stooped to look into the kitchen, thinking that she might be in there. Mr. Wales, the erstwhile clerk stared back at him.

Ed blinked, then jumped at the chance, his mind going automatically into high gear. “Nice meal, Mr. Wales. Thank you. May I help you wash dishes? I’d like to do something to repay you for it.”

Mr. Wales rubbed his hand over the white stubble on his chin. He stared at the tables where the vagrants sat now with mostly empty, dirty trays. “Okay, come on in. Door’s around to your right.”

Ed let the clerk-turned-bottle-washer instruct him in kitchen hygiene, took the proffered apron, discarded his suit jacket and tie, and pitched in with a will. He didn’t mind a little honest labor so long as it furthered his ultimate goals, whatever they might be.

“Thanks, son,” Wales said after the last tray and glass had been washed. “You’re a might smart worker.”

“I don’t mind work,” Ed said, “especially when it’s to repay a kindness.”

“I wish more of these folks thought that way. Bending over this sink is kind of hard on an old man.”

“I’d be glad to do it every night, if you could put me up until I get back on my feet,” Ed hoped that ploy would work. Washing trays for a few days wouldn’t hurt him, and it might help alloy the deacon’s suspicions.

The old man rubbed his whiskers again. “Let’s go see Deacon Wilshire. Lord knows I could use some help.”

Ed followed Wales from the kitchen, smiling to himself.

The mission contained a little day room, furnished with the same folding chairs which they had sat on to eat, removed from the dining hall and placed around second-hand card tables. Some bare plank bookshelves contained stacks of religious tracts and pamphlets, which no one seemed interested in, and an old TV set tuned to a gospel program. Ed caught an exhortation from the televangelist, pleading for donations. It jogged his memory of scams some of the media preachers had foisted off on the public, and he thought for a moment that more of the puzzle was falling into place, then tried to discard the idea. It wouldn’t go away, even though he knew there was no way in hell he could ever preach a sermon with a straight face. Besides, Bakker and Swaggert and Tilton had pretty well killed that golden goose. Still…

Wales led him in his old shuffling walk through the day room and down a hall where the carpeting was worn to the threads from multitudes of footsteps. He paused at a door bearing a nameplate that read:

ELIJAH WILSHIRE, CAPT.

MISSION DIRECTOR

He knocked respectfully. While they were waiting for a response, Ed wondered momentarily why the sign read captain rather than deacon, then he remembered that the Salvation Army used military ranks in their organization. After a moment, the door opened.

Wilshire stood in the entrance, and behind him, seated in a chair by a cluttered desk sat Violet, feet flat on the floor and her skirt pulled demurely over her knees. She looked distressed. Ed diverted his attention from her lest he seem too interested, and paid attention to the deacon. He looked even more distressed, as if God had suddenly changed sides and was rooting for the opposition. “What is it?” he said shortly, rubbing his hand through the few strands of hair remaining on his pate.

“This young fella helped me clean up tonight. Did a bang-up job, too. Even got some grease spots on his suit pants. He’s willing to help every night if we’ll put him up until he finds a job.” Wales rubbed a kidney suggestively, as if the kitchen work was aging him prematurely

“We have another need for help,” Violet spoke up from her chair. She avoided Wilshire’s scrutiny when he glanced briefly at her, surprise registering on his face.

Ed jumped in. “I’ll be glad to do anything I can. What is it you need?” He sensed an opportunity rising.

Wilshire didn’t say immediately. He eyed Ed’s almost new suit and still shiny shoes. “Mr. Tanner, just what kind of work have you been doing lately? You don’t strike me as the usual run of men we see here.”

“I was in the telephone business until just recently. Unfortunately, I was laid off. I had some savings I thought would carry me until I found work again, but…” He let his voice trail off and lowered his gaze as if embarrassed.

“What happened?”

“I was going with this woman. I thought dearly of her and trusted her implicitly. She asked me to invest in a venture. I gave her my money last Sunday, and that was the last I’ve seen of her since. My rent became due yesterday, so I had to move from where I was staying. With nowhere else to go, I came here.” He raised his eyelids, and faced the Deacon’s gaze with even more confidence than was his usual want at the beginning of a scam. It was easy, since he had told the literal truth, though the actual facts bore little relation to verity.

“You poor man,” Violet said. She got to her feet. “Deacon Wilshire, why don’t we let him help tomorrow? I’m sure the costume would fit.”

Ed slanted them a wary look. “Costume?”

“The Santa suit. I have had a death in the family,” Wilshire explained, “and I won’t be able to fill the position for the next few days on Louisiana Street. All our other volunteers are busy, yet we desperately need those donations.”

“Can’t Miss Smith handle it by herself?” Ed asked, bringing a little negative psychology into play.

Wilshire seemed embarrassed. “Yes, so far as standing by the pot and shaking the tambourine. However, a young woman like her alone on the streets, with her … she needs a companion.”

Ed knew what he meant. If a protective Santa were not nearby, and given her looks, Violet would spend all her time fending off advances rather than collecting money. “If the suit will fit, I would be glad to fill in for you, sir. It’s the least I can do.”

Ed’s sincerity and clean-cut appearance persuaded the deacon, albeit reluctantly. “All right, I suppose we can try it, Mr. Tanner. Check with Miss Smith first thing in the morning after breakfast.”

Ed didn’t try to press his advantage any further. “Thank you sir, I won’t let you down.” He let the others see him check his watch. “I’d better try to get some sleep if I’m going to work all day tomorrow, then help in the kitchen at night.” After separating himself from the elderly Mr. Wales, he headed to the office where his cot had been placed. It was all he could do to keep from kicking up his heels. Now he didn’t have to worry about how to get Violet away from her protectors so he could spend some time with her alone. Maybe there is a God, he thought.

Chapter Three

Violet slept poorly that night. Her flannel nightgown seemed stifling, a hindrance to sleep. She kept thinking of Ed Tanner, and what a fine man he must be. Certainly he was no casual vagrant, not the way he dressed and looked. He was simply down on his luck, thanks to the woman he had trusted. How could she have done such a thing to him? It wasn’t fair that such a good person should have been robbed of his life savings. Then she remembered: God always watches over his children, and plans their life for them. This, then, must be part of God’s plan for Mr. Tanner. That thought finally allowed her to slumber, but her dreams made her toss and turn and awaken several times. When she remembered portions of them the next morning, she hoped it was God who was responsible for them, but thought guiltily that, considering the content, His chief antagonist was more likely responsible.

Ed slept fine, though he dreamed, too. He woke only once, from a dream where he was somehow associated with Robert Tilton, the televangelist who got in trouble for soliciting money in exchange for promises of prayers, then trash canning the entreating letters and keeping the money. It was close to morning when the dream occurred. He lay on the uncomfortable cot for the remaining time, going over the dream. Mail. Money. There was a connection there, related to God and Violet. He was sure of that, but didn’t see how it could pay off. Tilton had gotten too much bad publicity, and again, he knew he was no evangelist. It was another piece of the puzzle, though. He was certain of that, and before long, he knew it would all come together.

After showering and dressing in less formal attire, he joined the other men for a breakfast of stale donuts and coffee, then helped Mr. Wales in the kitchen. Fortunately, there wasn’t much cleaning to be done this morning; the cups were disposable and the donuts were served on paper napkins. He looked around for Violet during what was laughingly called breakfast, but she hadn’t appeared. After the kitchen duty ended, he searched for her, promising himself a dinner of lobster and champagne just as soon as his wallet expanded enough to cover the cost. He found her in Wilshire’s office, after some respectful inquiries.

The door was half-open. Violet was holding up a pair of red trousers and a red shirt as if examining them for moth holes. She dropped them hurriedly when she spotted Ed.

“Oh! Good morning, Mr. Tanner. I was just checking your suit to see if it needed any repairs,” she said. She was dressed in her same drab uniform. Ed wondered what she would look like in a cocktail dress or a pair of tight-fitting jeans.

“Good morning, Violet,” he said, chancing the use of her first name. “It looks fine to me, though I’ll confess I never imagined having to dress as Santa Claus during my life.”

“God works in mysterious ways, Mr. Tanner.”

Ed pushed his advantage, since she hadn’t seemed offended by the familiar form of address. “Please, call me Boilerroom.”

“Boilerroom? I thought your name was Ed?”

He immediately realized the enormity of his gaff. He had picked up the nickname over the last several years while running phone scams, but only his co-conspirators called him by it.

“Oh, sorry,” he recovered. “Sometimes I forget. That’s an inside term. I handled phone banks with the telephone company. A roomful of phones is called a Boilerroom, and the guys sort of stuck me with the nickname.”

Violet dimpled. “Actually it’s kind of cute, but I think I prefer Ed. Is that all right?”

“Sure, that’s fine. What time are we supposed to leave?”

“The van will leave here at a quarter to ten, and drop us off with the pot. You should start getting ready, I think.”

“Fine. I’ll take the suit and go back and change. Where do we meet?”

“In the front lobby. Oh—do you know how to put on the wig and beard?”

“Maybe you’d better show me,” Ed said.

Violet had him sit down. She pulled a mirror from her purse and had him hold it while she stood behind him and attached the wig and false whiskers. Her hands felt as soft as satin gloves on his cheeks and neck. He noticed that they trembled slightly while she worked. She noticed, too, and wondered why she should be afflicted with a tremor this morning. Lack of sleep, perhaps, she thought, then felt color rising to her face as she remembered her dreams.

“There. That should do it. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“Thank you, Violet. I’ll remember how to do it next time.” Ed got to his feet and watched the unavoidable sway of her hips as she walked away. The drab uniform did little to conceal her figure. Her bottom half did indeed match the upper, he thought, if not more so. Not that it will do me much good. He decided that his second priority after satisfying his belly should be an arrangement to take care of some baser needs. The memory of the Las Vegas bimbo was fading as quickly as wind-blown smoke.

The van was as dilapidated as the mission furniture. Violet rode in front with the driver, the ubiquitous Mr. Wales, while he sat in back with other Santas and made small talk with them for the few minutes it took to get to their corner on Louisiana Avenue.

“Good luck, folks. Remember, we really need the offerings,” Wales said as he and Violet climbed out. One of the other costumed men handed down the pot and tripod, and the van moved away in the morning traffic.

Ed hung the pot from the tripod, checked his costume, and began ringing the bell. Pedestrians were already about, though the walk was not nearly as crowded as it would be later. Violet smiled at him and shook her tambourine. After awhile, he got the pattern down. Ringing the bell constantly would have resulted in wrist fatigue, as would continual shaking of the tambourine. His job was to gauge the advent of passersby and begin ringing at a point near enough to get their attention, yet not so near that they could pass before making up their minds whether to drop some money into the pot. Violet joined in with her noisemaker after he started the attention-getting bell. After he got the routine down, he was able to engage Violet in sporadic conversation, broken by the frequent necessity of thanking donors.

“How long have you been with the Salvation Army, Violet?”

Violet’s bright sunny smile faded momentarily. “My parents were active all their lives, and I suppose some of it rubbed off on me. Besides, my dad left his estate to them, and they were grateful enough to give me a job after he and Mom died.”

“A job? You mean you mean you get paid for working for them?”

“Oh, of course. It’s not much, but then I don’t need to spend much, either. They furnish my uniforms, and I live at the mission. Actually, I’ve managed to save most of my salary this past year.”

“That’s good,” Ed said, wondering how much money she had tucked back. If it turned out that he needed her to become actively involved in whatever idea was still bubbling around in his mind, maybe he could induce her to contribute some financing in order to get the operation off the ground.

“Yes, I’ve been putting most of it away for when I get out on my own, if I ever do.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, well, I’ve been sort of satisfied with what I’ve been doing so far, and I like helping people, especially those poor homeless men. Perhaps that’s what God intends for me to do from now on.”

Ed rang the bell until a group of early shoppers passed, then took up the conversation again. He couldn’t let it end on that note, not when he might need her. “There’s lots of ways to serve God,” he said. “I’ve been thinking lately that maybe I’m on the verge of being called to do His work in some way myself.”

“Oh, wonderful! Perhaps it will be with the Army, too.”

Ed was quick to dissuade her of that notion. Whatever happened, he knew he couldn’t run a scam while associated with them. Plus, he had already caught the nuances of Violet’s attraction to him. When his idea finally coalesced, he hoped he could persuade her to break her association with the army if it turned out that he needed her. “No. As much as I respect the Salvation Army, I think my call will be in other areas.” He added, “I’m thinking of a ministry of some kind, even though I’m not ordained. Right now, though, I can’t for the life of me think what it might be.” His dream the previous night made that thought pop into his mind, and he spoke before really thinking of how outrageous the idea was.

Violet smiled at him. “I’m sure God will make it clear to you soon. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just write a letter to God and ask him to direct us? Sometimes prayer is slow, and it’s hard to know just how it’s been answered.”

Letters to God! The phrase acted as an immediate catalyst to the idea that had been building in Ed’s mind. It expanded like an oversupply of rice added to a pan of boiling water. Letters to God! Not from him, but from the gullible, religious public. But how would that raise money? Never mind, he would figure a way. In the meantime…

“What a beautiful idea,” Ed said. “And from a beautiful girl, too!” Violet blushed at the compliment. He raced on, while the idea was still fresh in his mind. “If God looks anything like you, everyone would want to write to Him.”

“What an idea! Besides, no one knows what God looks like.”

“Of course not, but prayers are often sent through intermediaries. Why not letters?”

Violet frowned, but it didn’t distract from her angelic good looks. “I suppose one could pray in a letter to God, but what kind of address would you use? Where would the letter go? And where would you find a person saintly enough to be sure he was receiving God’s answer?”

More of the idea jelled. He stared at Violet, noting her innocent beauty, her heavenly figure, her Godly demeanor. “If I had to pick one person in the world I could trust, it would be you.”

“Oh, no, no. I’m not saintly at all. In fact, last night—” She broke off and averted her eyes from Ed’s intense, almost mesmeric scrutiny.

Letters to God. With answers. That was it, that was it! And who in his right mind would suspect this heavenly creature of chicanery? Of course it wouldn’t matter at first, but when the scam reached proportions great enough to where it started getting media publicity, there would have to be someone to appear out front, someone so saintly that there would be no question of ulterior motives. More important, the person would have to be convincingly honest, and believe wholeheartedly that they were one of God’s emissaries. No wonder he had thought Violet was going to be involved. Now, how was he going to get it started, and how could letters to God generate revenue? Never mind, he knew the answer would come.

“Violet, please don’t sell yourself short. I’m feeling that call very strong right now, and I just know I’m going to need some help in answering it. I want to do right by God.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that at all, Ed.” She rolled the name around on her tongue and decided she liked it. She still didn’t quite understand what he was getting at, though. Ed didn’t either, yet, but ideas were coming thick and furious. Obviously, not many people would pay money just to write a letter to God when only the most fanatic would believe their missives went directly to the deity. There had to be a hook of some kind.

“Thanks,” Ed rang his bell again, even though the nearest pedestrian was still too far away to make it worthwhile. It was an instinctive action, as if he were trying to get his mind to dump the rest of the idea down a chute into his consciousness. He said, “If you could write a letter to God and get an answer, would you?”

“Why, of course. Anyone would, wouldn’t they?”

“That’s what I think. This call I’m getting, I’m certain God is calling you, too. He wants you to be involved. I just know that if you prayed over a question in a letter, God would tell you how to answer it. You’re such a good person.”

“Please, Ed. You sound like the president of my fan club.”

Fan Club! It was almost as if God were listening to the conversation and feeding ideas to him. People paid dues to fan clubs, didn’t they? Of course! And what Christian could resist the idea of a fan club devoted to God? God’s Fan Club, that was it! How much should the dues be? Ten dollars? Twenty dollars? And how to spread the idea around? It would take some up-front money for advertising at first, but Violet said she had a little stash. And how to avoid controversy, or worse, disappointment at the answers?

“Ed … Ed? You have a funny look on your face.”

Funny! Of course! Levy the answers with humor, then make some of the letters public. A newsletter? Sure, and a publicity plant for free advertising. My God, he thought, play this just the right way, and it could turn into a bonanza. How many suckers could be induced to join God’s Fan Club, Christian or no? Plenty, he bet, with a letterhead on the answer sheet that they could show around for laughs, proving that they had written to God and received an answer. Postage costs? Make the dues high enough to cover costs and way, way more.

“Ed?”

Ed came back to earth, grinning beatifically. What an idea! And the best thing about it, the feds wouldn’t be able to touch him. Who could prove they weren’t God’s personal representatives? If the Pope could get away with it, he damn sure could.

He saw that Violet was directing a worried gaze at him. “Sorry, Violet. I was preoccupied there for a moment. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it weren’t God who was taking up my attention. It suddenly came to me, what He wants me to do.”

“Oh, wonderful!”

“Yes,” he continued, thinking fast, “and I just know God wants you to be involved. Just talking to you made the whole concept become clear. I think He wants us to start a fan club in His name. Just think of all the unsaved sinners we could reach like that, and think how much more personal letters are than preaching. We could touch individuals on an intimate basis, and through us, let the Lord direct them and guide them and help them spread the Word.”

Violet felt her heart beat a bit faster. A fan club. God’s Fan Club. What a wonderful, unique idea! And Ed wanted her to become involved. No, God wanted her to become involved. Ed had made that clear in describing his call to serve the Lord. Perhaps that’s why she had hesitated so much at the idea of leaving the mission. God had wanted her to wait until the time was right, and now it apparently was.

“How do we get started?” Violet asked.

Ed put just the right amount of humility into his answer. “I haven’t been given all the details yet, but I’m sure they will become clear very soon. I do know that we’ll need a place to work and a little money to get the idea off the ground. After that, membership dues should support the work.” He let his face fall into an expression of despondency. “It will take me some time to save the money, even after I find work. I just wish we could get started now.” He held his breath, waiting to see if the fish would swallow the bait. Such a pretty fish, too.

“Oh, I do, too. How much do you think it would cost to begin with?”

Ed thought, wondering how much money he could separate her from. Probably not much considering what the Salvation Army paid. Still, she had said that most of her salary was in savings. “Not a lot, really. We’ll need to rent an apartment to start with—” He caught her startled look at the idea of them sharing an apartment and nipped any objections in the bud. “A two bedroom apartment, of course, with two baths. We can use the living room as an office until we can afford a real one. And we’ll need a computer to keep track of the letters and accounts. That’s about it, I think.”

“Why, that doesn’t sound like much,” Violet said. A vision of her savings passbook appeared in her mind.

“It really isn’t, but it’s more than I have now. In fact, I don’t have anything since that woman ran off with my money. Oh, how I wish I hadn’t trusted her.” That was the truth anyway, even though it was designed to appeal to Violet’s sympathy and unconscious desire to compensate for another female’s dishonesty.

“If it isn’t a great sum, maybe I could help,” Violet offered. What better use to put her money than in God’s work?

“You are truly an angel, Violet. You wouldn’t have to worry, either. We could repay you from the first proceeds.” Ed decided that he really would, if he could afford it, and she actually came through with the money.

“Exactly how much would it take?” Violet asked, hoping her savings would cover the sum he came up with.

“A deposit and the first three month’s rent. We can get a used computer. A phone, then enough to place some ads so we can make our existence known. Say three or four thousand. That ought to do it.”

Violet clapped her hands and practically danced in the street. “Then there’s no problem! I have that much, even more.”

Ed reached out and grasped Violet’s hands in a tender embrace. “The Lord must surely have been directing me when He steered me to your Mission last night. Look, I’ll pick up a paper tonight and find us an apartment so we can get started.”

“Wonderful.” Violet beamed. “I can hardly wait to tell Deacon Wilshire what we’re going to be doing!”

A vision of the gruff, suspicious Wilshire appeared in Ed’s mind, and then he remembered that the deacon was gone, out of town. But for how long? He’d have to work fast in order to get Violet out of the mission before Wilshire returned, lest he talk her out of moving, especially into an apartment with a relative stranger.

Chapter Four

Violet informed Ed that they were allowed to use a few dollars from the pot each day for lunch, and let him talk her into fetching them hot dogs from a nearby stand. She very nearly was run over by a metro bus while crossing the street because she wasn’t watching the light. Her head was way up in the clouds with thoughts of the great work she would soon be doing. The vendor gave her his usual hungry stare, but it passed her by. She wasn’t unaware of her beauty, but she was as innocent as a baby bird of how she could have taken advantage of it. Cloistered by her parents at an all-girls religious school, and protected since then by the rigid rules of the mission, she’d had only passing thoughts of romance or men, and those she had were weak and fleeting. She had no idea that she was finally falling in love. She attributed the ecstatic buoyancy she felt within herself to the Lord’s touch, and was humbly, simply, grateful for the wonderful soaring of her spirit.

While she was gone, Ed bought a paper from a passing vendor and folded it back to the apartments for rent section. He selected several places he thought they could afford, wrote the addresses and phone numbers down in the little notebook he always carried, and then discarded the paper in a nearby trash bin. When Violet returned with the hot dogs, he waited until they’d finished eating before he broached the subject of God’s Fan Club again.

“Violet, your offer to help us get God’s Fan Club started so soon has really inspired me. What would you think about withdrawing enough money now so that we can go ahead and find a place today and get started as soon as possible?”

“Why, I suppose I could. I have an ATM card, even if I have never used it before. How much will we need?”

“A couple of thousand should do it for now. Why don’t you go ahead and make the withdrawal, then when the van comes to pick us up, you can ride back with it, and I’ll try to find an apartment. We can meet back at the mission. If all goes well, we can move in tomorrow.”

“Oh, dear, so soon? Deacon Wilshire and Mr. Wales are sure to be upset if they don’t have us to cover this corner tomorrow.”

“I know, but just think of how much good we’re going to be doing. In fact, why don’t we plan on helping the Salvation Army with some of the proceeds? They’ve been good to us both, and I always like to repay kindness.”

It was the perfect ploy. Violet went across the street, watching for buses this time, then down the block to a bank. Ed breathed a sigh of relief. He realized he’d been practically holding his breath through the whole conversation.

A few minutes later, he had two thousand dollars in his hand. It almost made him close his eyes and offer a prayer of thanks, except he didn’t believe in prayer. That was for the marks they were going to be dealing with. He had to admit, though, that it really did seem as if someone was watching over him. Everything was falling into place as neatly as pool balls in a rack.

He gave Violet a surreptitious wink as she climbed into the van at the end of their shift. He had already asked her not to say anything until he returned. She smiled back at him, reminding him anew of how pretty she was. He could already see that once they were living together, he was going to have a hard time keeping their relationship on a business basis. He made a vow to himself right then to avoid any romantic entanglements with her. Business before pleasure, as the old saying went. He wondered if he would be able to keep the vow.

He waved down a passing taxi, while wishing that he had renewed the lease on the Lincoln before leaving for Vegas, but perhaps it wouldn’t matter. If this scam worked as well as he thought it might, he could buy a damned Lincoln. Of course the big problem was going to be convincing Violet to go along with some of his ideas for the fan club. While a lot of details still remained to be worked out, his mind raced with viable ideas.

Ed settled on an apartment in a complex located on the east side of Houston. Getting into one with the extra bath cost a little more than he really wanted to pay, but he figured the extra money was worth it. He wondered what Violet would think of it. It was certainly a jump up from her present accommodations, and the best thing was that he thought it would be easy to get her involved with decorating and stocking it while he tended to the first phase of starting the fan club. Because of the price, he paid only the deposit and one month’s rent. He told the manager that he and his associate would be moving in the next day. The manager was a tall, slim redhead with an attractive scattering of freckles across her nose, dressed in jeans and a white blouse with nothing but girl beneath it. When he noticed her eyeing him speculatively, he gave her hand an extra long shake and smiled his best smile, then almost immediately regretted it. Too close to home. However … He stifled the thought and took another cab back to the mission, stopping briefly at a McDonald’s for a hamburger to go. The cardboard taste reminded him again of how much he wanted a decent meal, and that, in turn, caused him to wonder if Violet could cook.

He barely made it back to the mission before they closed for the night. Violet waited serenely for him in the day room, which was unoccupied, the men evidently having gone off to the dorm. He was pleased to see how unworried she appeared to be. He was afraid she might have had second thoughts after he left with her money, but he needn’t have worried. She was one of an almost extinct breed, a young woman who was still a true innocent, who thought the best of anyone she came in contact with. It was only an accident of upbringing and circumstances that she had gone this long without being taken advantage of by someone like Ed.

Ed saw her face light up when he entered the day room. He smiled back and seated himself on a folding chair across from her at one of the old card tables. “It’s done,” he said. “We can move in tomorrow. I even have some money left. You were so generous that I didn’t want to spend too much on a place for us.”

Violet patted his hand. “It wouldn’t have mattered. Any place will do, so long as it’s suitable for getting started with the club.”

“What club is that?” Wales, the old man, had seen Ed come in and followed him into the day room.

Violet answered. “Oh, Mr. Wales, Ed and I have had a true call from the Lord. We’re going to be starting a fan club devoted to God. Isn’t that wonderful?”

The old man’s mouth dropped open like a trap door. He had intended to chastise Ed for not showing up in the kitchen, thinking that the well-dressed gentleman might simply be a con man in disguise, volunteering only long enough to skim some money from the pot then disappear. After he finished cleaning the kitchen and counted the day’s take, though, he had to admit he could find no gross discrepancy. In fact, the donations were above normal. His suspicions roused again, he closed his mouth into a disapproving frown. “A fan club you say? For God? I never heard of such a thing.”

“Yes, doesn’t the Lord work in strange ways?” Violet said. Ed said nothing, letting her carry the conversation.

“He surely does that,” Wales scratched his chin whiskers. “So when does this fan club get started?”

“Almost immediately,” Violet bubbled. “Ed has already gotten us a headquarters. We’ll be moving there tomorrow. Oh, I’m so happy.”

“Moving, you say? Tomorrow? Miss Violet, I just don’t know how we’ll manage without you. Couldn’t you run this, uh, club from here? I’m sure Deacon Wilshire would be glad to help.”

“I’m afraid not. Ed says we need more room than is available here, and I’m sure he and I will be so busy we wouldn’t be able to help out here very much, anyway. Don’t worry, though, we’ll stay in touch. And do you know what? Ed says we can donate some of the money right back into mission work.”

“Well…” His voice trailed off, unable to come up with a reasonable objection.

Violet got up and hugged the old man. “I’m going to miss you and Deacon Wilshire, but when the Lord calls, you have to answer. Please understand. I won’t be happy unless you’re happy for me.”

The blandishment was too much to resist. “All right, Miss Violet. I guess we all knew we wouldn’t have you around here forever. The Deacon is going to be mighty unhappy, though.”

“Oh, no. He can’t be. Please tell him this is what I have to do. In fact, let me give you our address, and he can come see me, and I’ll explain it all to him.”

“I reckon that would please him more than anything. Give it to me.”

Violet turned her gaze to Ed. Reluctantly, but not letting it show, he wrote down for the old man the address of their new apartment. He would rather not have disclosed it, especially to Wilshire, but saw no way to avoid it. He would just have to be sure to keep Violet completely convinced of his good intentions, and hope for the best.

Wales glanced at his watch. “Well, it’s about time for lights out. You young folks better run along. If you’re leaving tomorrow, I imagine you’ll need to start getting your things together.” He left them, shaking his head sadly, as if one of his own daughters had just announced that she was leaving home.

Ed didn’t accompany Violet to her room, nor offer to help her pack. He figured in this case, discretion was the better part of valor. Besides, he had work to do before he slept. He wanted to make a list of everything they would have to do in the next few days in order to present at least a surface velour to the prospective operation, one which would help assuage the deacon’s doubts upon the inevitable visit.

The next morning, after downing what he hoped was the last stale donut he would ever consume, he met Violet in the lobby. She was dressed in a prim, polka dot dress, which completely concealed her knees, a worn cloth coat and scarf and low-heeled shoes. She was saying goodbye to the staff, pausing to call for him to join her as soon as he entered. He presented the most amiable, trustworthy demeanor he was capable of as he shook hands with the other mission workers, assuring each of them that Violet would be in good hands. He ignored a number of less than friendly stares that said as plainly as words that they thought it was his hands she would soon be in, literally. Violet seemed not to be conscious of the repressed hostility. She was all smiles and laughter, then cried only a few tears as they left in the cab Ed had called.

Ed expected her to be surprised at the place he rented, but her reaction surpassed anything he’d imagined. After paying and tipping the cabby for helping with their luggage, he led her on a tour. Each bedroom was furnished with a queen sized bed, two bedside tables, a chest, lamps, and a small desk and chair, all in conservative contemporary style. The carpets were brown sculptured shag and extended into the bathrooms. Each of them sported a tub easily large enough for two, with glass doors extending upwards and decorated with ornate seascapes.

Violet’s eyes grew wide as he led her by the hand to the stainless steel kitchen alcove and Formica dinette with upholstered matching chairs, then back into the living room. It had two large, plush gray couches, two easy chairs, polished pine bookshelves and another desk and chair.

“I’ve never been in a place like this,” Violet whispered. She looked up at Ed. “It must be very expensive. Are you sure we can afford it?”

“It’s just a standard apartment, the same kind ordinary singles and families rent all over Houston.” Violet’s reaction surprised him, causing him to think that she must have had an even stricter, more confined upbringing than he’d suspected; otherwise, she wouldn’t have been so awed by the ordinary middle-class furnishings before her. He was pleased. The more she enjoyed her surroundings, the less she would be inclined to question him. “Come over here now and look outside.” He led her to a set of ivory colored drapes covering half of one wall, and pulled down on the cord.

The drapes opened to reveal a flower bed, a sidewalk bordered on both sides with winter-browned carpet grass, then an expanse of cement leading to a fair sized swimming pool surrounded by red and blue plastic lounge chairs. The pool steamed gently.

“Oh, my goodness! A swimming pool! And look at the mist on it.”

“It’s heated.”

“A heated pool? Are you sure we can afford this?”

“I’m sure. Come on now, let’s sit down and go over the things we have to take care of to get settled in. No, first, why don’t you get into some jeans or something more comfortable than a dress. You might want to move some of the furniture around or something.”

“I don’t have any,” she confessed quietly. “My parents never let me wear them while I was at home, and at MGA we had to wear skirts and blouses all the same color.”

“MGA?”

“Melissa Girl’s Academy. That’s the school I went to.”

“Oh.” That explained a lot. “Well, we’ll put a shopping expedition on the list for you. You’ll need some casual clothes for when we’re working around here, and some other things for when you’re on TV. Sit down now and let’s go over the lists I made.”

“TV?”

“Yup. Count on it. Also, you may have to be our secretary and receptionist when we get a regular office, and you’ll need to dress for that.”

Ed showed her the things he thought they would need. Groceries; cooking implements; bedding; a computer; and office supplies.

“I didn’t realize how many things it would take to get set up,” Violet said. “I guess I’ve been living in another world.”

“Well, welcome to this one. I’m glad that I’m the one who gets to show you around. There’s one more thing we’re going to need, too. A car.”

“Oh, my. Don’t they cost a lot of money?”

A true innocent, Ed thought. “I’m a fair mechanic. I’ll pick us an old one to begin with, and hope I can keep it running until we can do better.”

Violet looked up at him like a kitten with newly-opened eyes, staring in bewilderment at how much larger the world had suddenly grown. “I don’t know how to drive. Would you teach me when we have time?”

He took her hand and squeezed gently. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know,” he said. Except one thing, he promised himself silently. Business before pleasure.

Chapter Five

The next two days passed swiftly for Ed, in a whirlwind of shopping and errands. Going back for things forgotten on one trip and included in the next was compounded by the fact that Violet couldn’t drive. That prevented them from splitting up, not that he really wanted to after enjoying her happy excitement at getting to shop so much, even though he disliked the process himself. Violet withdrew more money from her savings, and he bought an old Ford Bronco, then spent a lot of his time biting his tongue to keep from cursing out loud because it had only single doors.

One of the first stops was at a used computer store, where he picked up a refurbished Compaq computer at a bargain price. He was already feeling the pressure of not knowing when Deacon Wilshire would be back in town, and he wanted to be ready to show him something to prove his good intentions by then, even if it was just the bare bones of a home office. He bought computer software and stacks of paper and envelopes and stamps and various other items needed to furnish an office. When it came time to buy groceries and kitchen items, it turned out that Violet was an astute, knowledgeable shopper, and apparently a good cook. He complimented her on the meal she fixed the first evening, chicken breasts with green peppers and mushrooms.

“Mother taught me to cook,” she said. “She always told me that a woman’s place was in the home.”

“Do you agree with that?”

“It’s what the Bible tells us. I have to believe it. Of course I’ve been working at the mission since my folks died, so I guess all circumstances aren’t the same. Someday, though…” She didn’t finish the sentence, but he knew by the way she avoided his gaze what she was thinking. Someday she wanted to get married and have kids, and she was beginning to consider him as a candidate for the position of head of the household. Kids. Rug rats. He thought he’d better get this caper rolling in a hurry.

The evening of the third day, with most of the other immediate errands finished, he drove Violet to a nearby Mall, and inside, to the women’s department of the Mervyn’s store. He was tired of seeing her in dresses that looked as if they had come from a third hand resale shop. He hadn’t told her where they were going.

“What do we need here?” she asked, looking around at the racks of clothes.

“I told you before. You need some casual things to wear around the house. We’ll be kicking off the club before long, and we might both be crawling around on the floor sorting envelopes. And as I said, you need some better clothes for when you start dealing with the public.”

“Oh. What do you think I should buy?” She had no idea, since her parents had always selected her clothing for her.

“Tell you what. Let’s get a sales lady over here to help you.” He looked around until he spotted one. “Wait here,” he said. He took the lady aside and explained, “See that young girl over there? She’s been sort of, uh, out of the country. A missionary thing. Would you mind giving her a hand buying some more up-to-date clothes?”

“Of course. Does she know what she wants?”

He pulled out a list he had already made up. “Just follow this list. Oh, and don’t mention anything about her ministry. It embarrasses her. And don’t let her argue with you about the assortment. Here…” He pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to her.

The saleslady smiled. “Trust me.”

Ed introduced Violet, then left, telling her he would be back in an hour. He found a convenient Paddy’s and sipped on a lager until the time was up. He was missing his usual daily quota of scotch dreadfully, but was scared to bring any into the house until after the deacon made his inevitable appearance.

The saleslady had already finished totaling the purchases and was bagging them up. Ed spotted a couple of bright red scraps of clothing and grinned to himself. He couldn’t wait to see what she looked like in a bikini.

“All finished?” he asked brightly as he came up behind Violet just as the bathing suit was being placed in one of the shopping bags.

Violet whirled around at the sound of his voice. She saw Ed eyeing the skimpy suit as it disappeared inside the bag, and blushed furiously. He grinned at her, then reached up and patted her on the shoulder. “Looks like you did good. The Lord must be watching out for you.” He’d discovered that an easy way to assuage incipient doubts was to mention God in one way or another.

Violet smiled guiltily. “The Lord just made me spend a lot of money. I didn’t realize how much clothes cost until now.”

He wondered what she would say if she saw some of the prices at Neiman Marcus. Slow but sure wins the race. By the time she had to make public appearances, he intended for her to not only look like an angel but to be dressed like one.

“We can afford it. This was one of our last stops. All that’s left is a post office box number and the advertisements. We’ll work on the ads tonight, then place them tomorrow after we get the box.”

“Oh, wonderful! I can hardly wait. All this shopping has been fun, but I want to get on with the Lord’s business.”

Ed thought he detected an overtone to her voice that indicated she might be using mention of the Lord as an anodyne for suppressed guilt at having such a good time, or perhaps for being talked into buying that teensy little red bikini. He doubted that she had been allowed to wear a bathing suit since reaching puberty. He found himself visualizing what she’d look like in it, and tried to stifle the thought. This was going to be a delicate operation, introducing her to worldly ways. It had to be done, though. He didn’t think he could stand months of living with her in a constant state of piety, no matter how much money was involved.

It was after dark when they returned to the apartment. Since Violet was still wearing one of her dowdy Pentecostal dresses, he suggested that she change into one of her new purchases.

“What should I wear?”

“Why don’t you try the stone washed jeans and the chambray work shirt? They’re both soft and won’t have to be washed before they’re comfortable.”

She dimpled and carried her purchases into her bedroom. A few minutes later she returned, wearing the new clothes and a pair of soft moccasins. The transformation was amazing. He already knew she was beautiful, but the casual clothes turned her into a modern Madonna. He stared.

“Ed? Don’t you like them?” she asked in a trembling, little girl voice, as if she were about to be spanked by her mother.

“You look wonderful, Violet. So wonderful that I was speechless for a moment.” He meant it, too. The redheaded manager he had spotted from time to time faded from his thoughts like a ship lost in fog. “I can’t wait to see you in the rest of your new clothes. And don’t worry about the money. You needed them. We’ll be dealing with the public before long, and I want you to be dressed for the part.” He didn’t mention what a bikini might have to do with the public, other than possibly starting a riot when she wore it, if the hip-hugging jeans and tight blouse were any indication of how it might look on her.

“So long as you think it’s necessary,” she said. “Are you ready for something to eat?”

“You bet,” Ed discovered that he had a ravenous appetite with no scotch to kill his hunger and dull the taste buds.

“I’ll get started. Porterhouse steak and baked potato?”

“Sounds great. While you’re cooking, I’ll start working on our first ads.”

Ed already had some ideas. He wished they could afford a professional media expert, but his lifelong work as a scam artist had of necessity had given him a good idea of the psychology of the hook, that first, attention-grabbing presentation which set the stage for the subsequent separation of cash from the marks.

He booted up the computer and began working. A half hour later, the first draft read:

THE ULTIMATE FAN CLUB!!

Join God’s Fan Club Now!! Correspond directly with God!! Ask any question! He will always answer, but He doesn’t guarantee you will like what he says.

Dues: $20.00 per year.

Address queries to:

GOD

000 Infinity

The Universe

C/O GOD’S FAN CLUB

P.O. Box xxx

Houston, Texas 73411

Note: You must become a member of GOD’S FAN CLUB in order to receive a personal reply from God. Queries without dues must be accompanied by SASE.

He was just finishing when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” he called to Violet, who was unwrapping the steaks. He took one more look at the prospective ad before getting up to answer the door. Not bad for a first effort, he thought, but it still needs work.

Deacon Wilshire stood in the entrance, looking as wrathful as an Old Testament prophet. The only thing missing was a handful of lightning bolts, but the fire and brimstone sparking from his baleful gaze substituted perfectly.

Before he had a chance to set fire to the room with his blazing eyes, Ed diverted his attention. “Violet!” he called. “Look who’s here. It’s Deacon Wilshire. Come in, sir, come in!”

Wilshire stepped inside. Now his eyes bugged out in astonishment as he caught his first glimpse of Violet in her new clothes, with her shining locks pulled back in a ponytail and tied with a new scarf. “Violet. Violet, what have you done to yourself?” He asked in a cracked voice.

She smiled prettily. “Oh, Deacon Wilshire, I’m so glad to see you. I wanted to tell you goodbye when we left the mission, but of course I couldn’t because you were gone.”

“But—”

“Oh, these.” She opened her hand and gestured at herself. “I had to have new clothes because we’re going to be dealing with the public soon.” She remained by the stove, keeping an eye on the steaks.

“So I heard from Mr. Wales. Violet, you must stop this blasphemy and return to the mission. We will pray for forgiveness together.”

The deacon picked exactly the wrong word to chastise her with. There was no way she could think of blasphemy in terms of anything she did. “Oh, please, Deacon Wilshire, don’t say such things. Ed has received a genuine call to work for the Lord, and we’re certain that the call included a place for me as his helper.”

“Helper! Please don’t tell me you’re going to help this, this—this man with his ridiculous scheme. God’s Fan Club indeed!”

Ed spoke up, knowing that Wales had spilled the beans to the deacon. “Please, sir. It’s not ridiculous. Many people join fan clubs. Unfortunately, most of them become members of clubs devoted to those sinful denizens of Hollywood. I believe God has called me to change all that. Within another week, all those wayward joiners will be able to belong to a fan club sponsored by God Himself. How could that be wrong? How could it be ridiculous?”

The deacon tried to recover. “Sponsored by God, you say. Who told you?”

“God did,” Ed said simply.

“He did,” Violet affirmed. “I was there when he got the call. It was like a miracle. Each thing we said led to another, just as if God were directing our conversation. In fact, I’m sure He was.”

“I don’t believe it,” Wilshire said.

“Why not?” Ed said. “Don’t ministers get calls? Didn’t Jesus Himself get a call to preach?”

“This isn’t preaching. It’s—it’s—” He couldn’t think of a word harsh enough to express his outrage.

“It’s even better than preaching,” Violet said. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have left the mission. With God’s Fan Club, we can reach out directly to a myriad of lost souls and give them personal counsel. Please, Deacon Wilshire, I just know this is a good thing.”

“What will it avail you to harvest lost souls when you are losing your own?”

“Whatever do you mean by that? I’m not losing my soul, I’m strengthening it.”

“By living in sin with a man, you strengthen your soul?”

Ed shifted uncomfortably while Violet and the deacon argued. The ad for God’s Fan Club was still displayed on his computer screen, and he wasn’t yet ready to let the deacon see that! Taking advantage of the expression of outrage appearing on Violet’s face, he took Wilshire by the arm, and resisting his attempts to pull loose, led him toward one of the bedrooms. He opened the door and gestured inside. “This is where I sleep.” He pulled him to the opposite side of the living room and opened that door. “And this is where Violet sleeps.” He let go of Wilshire’s arm and walked back to stand in front of the computer screen, blocking it from view.

“Maybe I jumped to conclusions,” Wilshire admitted. “Still, it’s not a healthy arrangement. You leave too much room for temptation, for the devil to rear his ugly, lustful head.”

“The Lord is present here,” Violet said. “We don’t have to worry about the devil and his tricks. Would you like to join us for dinner, Deacon Wilshire? We would be glad to have you.”

“I’ve eaten, thank you, Violet.” He turned back to Ed. “Be it as it may, I still have a question for you Mr. Tanner. Yesterday you were destitute. Today I find you living in opulence. Where did the money come from? Have you been lying about your finances to us?”

“Not at all. Violet advanced the money for us to get started.”

“I see. I see it all now. How can you live with yourself, taking advantage of this poor girl’s innocence? You must have robbed her of her life savings. There are words to describe men like yourself, Mr. Tanner.”

“Please, Deacon,” Violet pleaded. “Ed and I intend to donate a percentage of the proceeds from God’s Fan Club to the Salvation Army, in return for its kindness, not only to us, but to all the homeless and destitute. He insisted on it.”

“How can a fan club have proceeds? It seems to me that it would cost money rather than make any.”

“We’ll be charging dues and asking for offerings to support the Lord’s work,” Ed explained. “I expect we will have much less overhead than a televangelist, and be able to return a greater percentage of the money to the Lord.”

Wilshire stood indecisive. His instincts told him something wasn’t right, but he had run out of arguments. He took one more look at Violet in her new jeans and wondered how long it would be before Tanner had them off her, but there was little else to say. “Very well, let’s leave it at this for now. However, Mr. Tanner, I warn you, I will monitor this endeavor and you, personally, as closely as possible. Violet, remember your upbringing.”

“I will,” Violet said as Wilshire left and closed the door behind him.

Ed saw that Violet was on the verge of tears. He went to her and wrapped her in his arms. “Now, now,” he said, patting her shoulder, “the deacon was just trying to look after you. I don’t blame him one bit.”

“Oh, you’re so good, Ed. Here I was with anger in my heart, and you excuse him so easily.” She snuffled against his shoulder for a moment while he held her. She was a pleasant armful, but her voluptuous body was too close for comfort. He pushed her away and tried to get his mind back on the redhead. Wilshire knew what he was talking about. This was an unhealthy situation so far as being able to resist temptation went.

Later that night, unable to sleep because of the mindless urgings of his body, he thought that they had better really get rolling with the club and start bringing in some money, not only to weaken Wilshire’s suspicions, but because Violet’s bank account was getting low. And if the redhead didn’t work out he was going to just have to find some release elsewhere.

Chapter Six

Ed worked on the ad in the morning and got it into the final form. Violet looked it over, somewhat dubiously. She was wearing a new pair of brown slacks and a plain yellow tee shirt. He thought that if this kept on she might break the bank buying clothes.

“Where did you come up with this address for God?” she said. “Why not just use the box number by itself?”

“God is everywhere. Zero infinity in the universe is the nearest way I could think of to describe it. Remember, when fans receive an answer from God, they’re going to want evidence that it came from Him, even though you will be His intermediary.” Actually, the address was part of the hook. When he began making some of the letters public, he wanted an attention grabber.

“Well, I guess you’re right. God is everywhere. But how about this: ‘God will always answer, but you may not like what He says.’ ”

“Isn’t that always the case?” Ed said. “We know that prayers are always answered, but not necessarily in the way we want them to be. Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. They ask, you pray, then give the answer God inspires in you. I just know that He will help you.”

“I’m still not sure I can do it.”

“I am. I feel the Lord’s call more strongly every day, and it’s telling me that you are one of God’s chosen. If ever anyone is capable of answering mail from God, you are. Your heart is pure, and you have faith in God. What else do we need?”

“All right, Ed. I believe you. What are we going to do today?”

“First I have to go rent a post office box for the mail. Do you want to come with me?”

“No, I think I’ll stay here and practice some on the computer. It’s different from the old one we had at the mission or in school.”

“Okay. I’ll be back in a while.”

Ed drove to the nearby regional post office. It was already crowded, and he had to wait in one of the several lines. When his turn came he confidently faced the middle-aged, overweight woman serving that station.

“Yes, sir, how may I help you?”

“I need a large post office box.”

The clerk pulled out a form. “Name of the box holder?”

“God.”

“Who?”

“God. You know, as in the Bible?”

“Is this a joke?”

“Not at all. I need an address for God’s Fan Club. He’s going to be getting a lot of mail soon.”

Heads turned in their direction. The clerk scrutinized him as if he might have just wandered away from an asylum. “Sir, we can’t give you a box number for God.”

“Why not? Don’t you believe in Him?” Ed laughed inside. It wasn’t often that a scam began with having fun.

“Well, of course I do, but this is ridiculous. I never heard of such a thing.”

“You’ve never heard of a fan club?”

“Well, yes, but God doesn’t have a fan club.”

“He does now. Would you like to join?”

“What on earth for? That is, supposing this isn’t a trick of some kind.”

“It’s no trick. Join God’s Fan Club, and you can write to Him. He will answer, too, but you might not like what He says.”

The clerk shoved the application form towards Ed. “Take this and go. We don’t have time for tomfoolery here, and you’re holding up the line.”

He shoved the form back across the counter as a crowd gathered around him. “Ma’am, it isn’t your place to decide who should have a box number. All you’re here for is to take the applications and process them.”

The clerk wasn’t buying it. “Perhaps that’s true, but the post office does have rules concerning the boxes. For instance, we have to screen applicants to be certain there is no fraudulent solicitation of money. Will your fan club be doing that?”

“It’s not my fan club, it’s God’s, and the only form of solicitation will be a nominal sum for yearly dues.”

“I don’t believe this.”

A few of the bystanders laughed. Ed gauged the sound and thought their sympathy was with him. No one likes bureaucrats. He turned around. “How about it folks? What’s wrong with a fan club devoted to God?‘

“Give him the box number,” a small elderly lady said, in a voice suggesting that she was probably a regular contributor to PTL.

“Give it to him,” a fat man in a business suit said. “I’d rather send money to a fan club for God than to one of those swindling televangelists.”

“Could I really write to God if I joined His fan club?” a thin man with bushy brows and a fanatic glint in his eyes asked.

“Certainly,” Ed said. “You’ll get an answer, too.” He turned back to the clerk. “Ma’am?”

“I think I better go see my supervisor,” the clerk said, eyeing the crowd.

“You’re holding up the line,” Ed said, neatly turning the tables on her.

“Yeah, come on, lady. Give him his box number,” the fat man said. “I’m in a hurry.”

The clerk, remembering the recent spate of shootings at post offices around the country, and thinking Ed might possibly be a disgruntled former employee, gave up. She finished filling out the form according to his instructions, took his money and issued a receipt.

As Ed was leaving there came a shout from behind him. “Hey, I want to write God. How do I go about it?”

“Look for God’s first notice in the Houston Chronicle this Sunday. It will tell you everything you need to know.” He fled the post office lobby, scared that he would burst into laughter before getting out of sight. Not only did the crowd’s reaction indicate that God’s Fan Club would attract considerable interest, but it appeared that he was going to have fun generating that interest. Had he known in advance what the reaction at the post office was going to be, he would have made arrangements to plant a reporter in the crowd.

With a viable address for God in his pocket, he headed back to the apartment, intending to call in their first ad from there. He was already at the door when he changed his mind. He decided to go on in anyway, and see Violet for a moment. When he entered, he found her sitting at the computer, checking out the word processing program. She had changed clothes again, and was dressed now in regular blue jeans and a light colored v-neck sweater. If the way she had already begun wearing different outfits for every occasion continued, he hoped the club began generating some cash soon. The way it was going, they would have to go back to Mervyns before the week was out.

“Hi, Ed. Back already?” She pushed her chair away from the desk. “How did it go?”

“Even better than I expected. There was a crowd at the post office and they were enthusiastic when they heard what we were doing. This is God’s work, for certain.”

“Wonderful. Now what?”

“Now we place our first ad. We’ll put it in the Sunday Chronicle. How are you doing on the computer?”

“No problem, except that once we pass a certain point in membership, we’ll need to add some memory or get a better computer. This program will handle only so many mail merge addresses.”

“We’ll worry about it then. By the way, you look great. I can’t wait to see you in your shorts.”

Violet displayed her usual blush, but didn’t disclaim the idea of wearing them as much as he thought she might have. “Thank you, Ed. I’m glad you made me buy some new clothes. My old ones were getting rather worn.”

That wasn’t quite the way Ed would have described them, nor all that he thought was wrong with them, but he let it pass. He checked his watch. “I need to be on my way if we want to make the deadline. I just stopped in to see you for a moment.”

She smiled. “That was sweet of you. I’ll get back to my work.”

Ed really had plenty of time, but there was a phone call he needed to make first. The post office clerk’s reaction had alerted him to the fact that the newspaper might be reluctant to place an ad in God’s name. He didn’t want Violet overhearing this call, so he pulled in at the first convenience store on the way that had a pay phone. He dialed the number from memory, hoping Al wasn’t still down in the Cayman Islands spending his rake-off from the last time they had worked together. Fortuitously, the attorney’s office was located in Houston.

His secretary answered, and Ed recognized her voice. “Hey, Ruthie. Ed here. Is Al in?”

“Ed! You old scoundrel! Where are you?”

“Right here in Houston, babe. Did Al enjoy his trip?”

“To hear him tell it, he played harder than a running back with two footballs. How about yours?”

“Fun, but not very profitable,” Ed said.

“I warned you about those bimbos in Vegas. You didn’t listen, did you?”

“I listened. They didn’t. Hey, let me talk to Al. I’m getting back into business.”

“Be careful. The feds are cracking down on phone scams.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing like that.”

“Good for you. Hang on a minute.”

While Ed waited, he thought of Ruthanne. He had tapped her once or twice in the past when Al was out of town, but not lately. Al had kept her busy entertaining clients and distracting accountants, and besides, he suspected that she and Al had something going now.

“Alfred Depo. Is that you, Ed?”

“In the flesh, Al. Ready for another caper?”

“Ready and willing, but let’s be careful. I had a hell of a time convincing the auditors I really earned all that money from the last one. In fact, if I hadn’t caught Ruthie and him using my desk for play instead of pay one night, we might have been in real trouble.”

“Ruthie does have her uses, doesn’t she? No problem this time, though. We’re going to be dealing with God.”

“Did I hear you right?”

“Right as Christ on a cross. I’m putting the first ad in the paper today, which is why I called.”

Al sounded puzzled. “Why should you need me to place an ad?”

“Well, the post office gave me some flack about opening a post office box number for God. I figure the paper will really balk without a reminder of freedom of speech and the press and all that foorah.”

“A post office box number for God. Ed, you’ve flipped your wig.”

Ed laughed. “Not a bit. I’m starting up a fan club for God. Judging by the reaction I saw this morning, and considering how much those televangelists used to rake in before they got greedy, I’m figuring on a gross of a couple hundred K the first month or two. After that, the sky’s the limit.”

Al Depo didn’t laugh. His voice suddenly turned serious. “You think so, huh? Same split as before?”

“Same split. You submit bills for attorney’s fees for most of the net. You launder the cash, then kick back the usual 80% to me. Oh, and while I’m thinking of it, you need to file for a tax-exempt status for the club. Here, let me give you the box number. Make the form out for God’s Fan Club.”

“I don’t want any trouble with the IRS, Ed.”

“Why should we have trouble? God doesn’t pay taxes.”

“So He doesn’t. That will keep it simple. This sounds better and better. How did you ever come up with an idea like this?”

“An angel inspired me.”

“I’ll bet I know what kind of angel you’re talking about.”

“Not this time. She’s a real angel. Hey, I need to get on the road. Stay in the office and wait on a phone call in case I need you.”

“You got it. Damn. God’s Fan Club. I don’t believe it.”

Ed hung up and headed for the Houston Chronicle office. Good old Al. If it weren’t for him, he’d probably be sitting in a jail cell somewhere, but he credited himself with the original idea of funneling most of the net from whatever scam he was working on into legitimate-appearing attorney’s fees, then taking most of it back in cash when it was time to close down. This time he promised himself he would hang onto his share.

Chapter Seven

The business section of the Chronicle’s classified department was humming, getting their ads ready for the Sunday edition. Ed stated his business and was led to an alcove where an attractive woman in her thirties asked him to be seated.

“I’m Susan Leeland,” she said. “I understand you have a display ad for us.”

“That’s right.” Ed handed her a copy of the final version of the advertisement. “I want it to run exactly as I have it pictured here, a sixteenth of a page, in the religion section of this Sunday’s edition.”

The classified consultants worked on commission, and Ed was hoping that an ad so large in the Sunday paper would keep questions to a minimum. It didn’t. Susan Leeland read the foolscap, looked up at him, then read it again. She handed it back.

“Try the National Inquirer. We don’t handle this sort of stuff.”

“What’s the problem?” Ed said, sitting up straighter in the chair and deepening his voice.

She looked him over as if he were a worm that had just crawled out of a bait box. “We don’t accept ads which are intended to bilk the public, nor do we take advertisements or run articles that ridicule religion.” She made a motion as if to dismiss him.

“Miss Leeland,” Ed said sternly, “I expected resistance to this perfectly legitimate enterprise. There are thousands of fan clubs in the country that advertise for members, just as we are doing, and ridiculing religion is the last thing we’re interested in. On the contrary, we are attempting to promote religion through this fan club. We have received a call from God to do this, just as a pastor might receive one to associate himself with a new or different church. I suggest that you accept our ad.”

“Go to the National Inquirer or any of the other supermarket tabloids. That’s where this so-called advertisement belongs. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other clients waiting.” She stood up, the better to escort him from her workstation.

Ed sat fast. “I suspected this would happen, which is why I consulted my attorney before coming here.” He pulled out one of Al’s business cards. “Before dismissing me so readily, I suggest you make a quick call to Mr. Depo. It might save you and your newspaper both from some unpleasant repercussions.”

Miss Leeland’s superior smirk disappeared. “Wait here. I’ll talk to my supervisor.”

Ed waited. In a way, he hoped they would refuse to place the ad. If so, Depo would take the case to the TV stations, and present it as a serious breach of religious freedom, the right of citizens to unimpeded expression of their viewpoints, an abrogation of the separation of church and state, political suppression of thought, unfair business practices and probably mopery and dopery in the spaceways. In fact, now that he thought of it, why not do it anyway, even after the paper accepted their ad? He was sure they would, after Al finished with Leeland’s supervisor. He could almost picture it. The TV stations would jump all over the story, generating more free publicity than they could possibly pay for.

Leeland returned in fifteen minutes with a tall, harassed-looking young man in a black-striped suit and vest. His tie was loosened as if he had been trying to untangle himself from a necktie party.

“Mr. Tanner?”

“That’s me,” Ed said.

“After consulting with our attorneys, we see no reason why you can’t run your ad in this Sunday’s edition. I have been advised to caution you, however, that should we receive any reports of chicanery on your part, we will drop it immediately. Not only that, if we see any indication whatsoever of fraud, we will file criminal charges against you. Is that understood?”

“Absolutely, and I’m sure God has no objections. What do we owe you?”

He blanched at the sum mentioned. He hadn’t realized how much a sixteenth page ad would cost. He peeled off enough hundred-dollar bills to pay for the ad and noted how few were left when he was finished. Now he had no choice but to ask Al to contact the TV stations. He and Violet were going to need a cash infusion into the enterprise sooner than he had expected.

He stopped at the first phone booth he saw and called Depo to explain what he had in mind.

“Ed, that’s great! The TV stations will love a chance to blast their opposition. I’ll just mention how it took the threat of legal action before they would take your ad, and the story will carry itself after that. Tell your angel she’s likely to be very busy, very shortly, and so will we. I’ll get started on the tax-free exemption and get an account in the Caymans opened. Expect me to start submitting bills to you next week.”

“Give us time to get a checking account opened. I wasn’t expecting things to go quite this fast.”

Al’s hearty laugh came through the earpiece like the chuckle of the devil who had just gotten another signature on the dotted line. “I wasn’t either, when you first talked to me, but I think it will. Now try to hang on to some of the money this time, you hear? If this goes over as big as it sounds like it might, I may retire.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ed said and hung up.

Ed stopped at a stationary store on the way home where he ordered several rubber stamps resembling post office cancellation marks. He expected most of the letters to God to be perfectly serious missives from gullible churchgoers, but he had thought of another way to get mail into the coffer while he was waiting on Miss Leeland’s supervisor. This one, though, would have to be carried out away from the presence of Violet, at least for the time being.

The nervous tension of hassling with the newspaper and post office had stimulated a different type of emotion in Ed. Telling himself that he shouldn’t, he detoured by the apartment complex’s office. Lori Anderson, the redheaded manager was alone when he entered, going over lease forms at her desk.

“Hi there!” he said. “I wanted to stop by and tell you how pleased Violet and I are with the apartment. It is perfect for working away from the office.”

Lori brushed a lock of red hair from her forehead and tossed a sultry smile his way. “I’m glad you’re satisfied. What sort of work do you do, Mr. Tanner?”

“Call me Ed. We do promotions type things, mostly. You’ll probably be hearing about us before long.”

“Oh, really? That sounds interesting.” She moved the lease forms to the back of her desk and swiveled her chair around to face him. She wore a pair of green slacks and a light red top that jiggled when she moved.

“We hope it turns out to be. In fact, Lori, sometime in the next few days, I expect some media types to come around asking to see us. I wonder if we could get together, say tomorrow afternoon sometime, and go over the logistics of how to handle them?”

Lori turned up the sultry. Ed thought that she was probably a frustrated model or actress, one of the myriads of attractive women who hung around the periphery of any type of media activity, hoping to be noticed. “Well, tomorrow is Saturday. I close the office at three. How about then?”

“Fine. We’ll go for a drink somewhere. See you then.” He waved a casual goodbye, knowing he shouldn’t have made the date, not with someone who lived in such close proximity to him and Violet, but also knowing he would keep it. Damn it, why didn’t Violet look like a dowdy Sunday school teacher rather than a candidate for Miss America? It would have made things a hell of a lot simpler. There was something else, too. Mention of a drink made him thirsty, but not for water.

There was a liquor store on the corner opposite the apartment complex. He walked over and went inside, practically drooling over the bottles of scotch lined up on one section of the shelving. He forced himself to turn away, and instead headed for the wine cooler. Slow but sure, he reminded himself. He picked out a bottle of red and a bottle of white Lancer’s, a corkscrew, and a package of plastic wine glasses. As he paid for them, he noted the dearth of bills in his wallet, and convinced himself that he couldn’t have afforded scotch anyway.

Violet was still engrossed with the computer when he entered. He slid out of his suit jacket, tossed it over the arm of a chair and loosened his tie and collar. “Hi, angel,” he said.

She turned off the computer and stood up. “Oh, Ed. Angel, indeed. How did the day go?”

“Great. In fact, I brought us a little something to celebrate with.”

“What are we celebrating?”

He pulled the bottles out of the bag and placed one of them in the refrigerator. The other he left on the kitchen cabinet. “Brace yourself. You’re likely to be on television in the next day or two.”

“Television! What on earth!”

“Yup. Sit down while I open this, and I’ll tell you about it.” He began turning the corkscrew.

“Oh, my goodness. What do you have there? Is that spirits, Ed?”

“It’s wine. Everything is shaping up so well that I thought we deserved a little luxury.”

She stared at the bottle he was opening with a frown of disapproval. “The Bible says ‘Look not upon the wine when it is red.’ ”

“I read the Bible, too, Violet. If I remember right, there are references all through it of wine drinking, even by holy men.” Ed had read the Bible extensively, courtesy of his religious parents, but that was long ago, while he was still a child. He thought he’d better start reading it again, considering what he was up to.

“Well, yes, but—”

“Besides, this isn’t red, it’s white,” he said, as if that nullified the Biblical adage. “Maybe I’d better not.”

“Angel, I think most of the religious opposition to drink is because some people abuse it, just like they do when they eat too much or discipline their kids too severely.”

“Why do you keep calling me angel?” Violet asked, delaying her decision.

“Because you are one, and you’re going to look like one on TV.” He poured his glass full and filled another up to only a third of its capacity. Angel. He had called her that, without any deliberation at all.

“Well … Oh, goodness. My parents would roll over in their graves if they saw me taking a drink.”

“I’m sure they would make allowances for the occasion, were they here. Besides, many religions see no sin in drinking, so long as it’s not overdone. Catholics, for instance.”

“According to my religion, they’re heretics.”

“Yet they believe in Jesus and the resurrection. Muslims don’t, and they absolutely forbid alcohol.”

Violet certainly didn’t want herself grouped in with the Islamic religion. “Well, maybe a little. Considering the occasion. Tell me about it.”

He handed her the glass with the small portion of Lancer’s white. “Sit down, and I will.”

She took the wine glass, and seated herself on the couch by Ed. He turned to face her, and couldn’t help noticing how well she filled out the sweater. Even better than Lori would have.

He took a welcome swig from his glass, while she sipped apprehensively, as if she were testing for hemlock.

“It’s like this,” he said. “The post office and newspaper gave me a hard time about the box number and the ad. I had to retain an attorney in order to convince them that not only were we honest, but that we had a call to start our fan club—I mean, God’s Fan Club. I think the media heard about the problem, and decided that they were both attempting to suppress religious expression. Our attorney thinks they will make a story out of it, probably within the next few days.”

Unconsciously trying to appear sophisticated in Ed’s presence, Violet took another sip of her wine, trying not to make a face at the sour-apple-like taste..

“And you really think they’ll want to interview us?”

“I’m almost positive, and before it happens, I think we should go over our answers, so that we won’t give the wrong impression to anyone.”

“You mean like a politician practicing for a debate? Isn’t that kind of dishonest?”

“No, no. When you get asked a question, I want you to give a completely honest answer. You wouldn’t want to lie, would you?”

“Oh, no! Never!” she exclaimed, horrified at the notion that he might have gotten the impression that she wanted to.

“I knew you wouldn’t, angel. I just want you to practice a little bit, so that you’ll give the best impression possible as a representative of God’s Fan Club. I know you’ve seen how the media can distort what people say after an interview.”

“Oh, yes. I wouldn’t want that to happen.”

“I know you wouldn’t. Take a little more of your wine. It will relax you so that you won’t feel like you’re in a spotlight while we practice.”

She did so, finishing off the last of what had been in her glass. Ed added more and refilled his own, then ran her through responses to likely questions while they sipped. When it came time for dinner, the Chablis Blanc was gone, and he opened the bottle of red. Violet didn’t seem to notice the change. She liked talking to her companion, and found that she enjoyed the mild glow from the wine, especially as the taste became more acceptable. By the time dinner was finished, a warm, rosy sense of contentment had spread through her body, even though she hadn’t drank that much. Ed got most of it.

He went to the refrigerator and poured the last of the bottle into his glass, holding up his hand when Violet held out hers for a share. “I think you’ve had enough, angel. And speaking of angels, aren’t they always pictured in white?”

“All the depicsh—the paintings I’ve seen do. Why?”

“I think we should go out in the morning and get you a white dress. That’s just what you need to wear when you’re in front of the camera.”

Violet was beyond questioning anything he said. Mention of a new dress caused her to get up from the couch. She went over to where Ed was standing and hugged him gratefully, mildly surprised at her own audacity.

He set his glass down and folded her into his arms. She looked up, and he gently lowered his lips to hers. It took all his will power to keep the kiss even halfway sisterly. Violet wasn’t feeling sisterly at all. He felt her arms tighten around his neck, and her lips begin to part. He barely managed to separate himself from her before losing control. He held her by the shoulders for a moment while she stared up at him, mind jumbled and heart racing. He reached up with one hand, tilted her chin and kissed her again, briefly and lightly. “You’re an angel,” he said, and then turned away from her.

Violet held her position for a moment, then ran to her bedroom. She was as breathless as a racehorse just finishing the last hurtle of a steeplechase. She flung herself down on the bed and gasped for breath. I never thought it would be like that. He calls me angel. He kissed me and I loved it. But why did he stop? It must be because he respects me. Oh, what a good, good man he is. Eventually, her breath stilled and she dozed off, still fully clothed.

Chapter Eight

Ed was surprised when Violet allowed the kiss. He hadn’t even planned it, not so soon. He wanted to keep her pure, and her thoughts on religion, even while weaning her away from some of the drearier aspects of it. She was essential for pulling off the scam, and he didn’t want romance to distract her from essential business, though it seemed that she might have different views about the subject. Whatever, the remembrance of the softness of her lips and the feel of her yielding body next to his kept impinging on his mind. He needed relief, and soon. He woke up anticipating his date with Lori in the afternoon.

Violet appeared the same morning with a smile on her face and a thrill in her heart. She wore a white skirt and blouse, which fit perfectly and made her look like an earth goddess out for her first look at spring. All through the preparation and eating of breakfast she watched him covertly, noting how his hair tousled over his forehead when he moved suddenly, and how the slim muscular lines of his body filled out his blue jeans and cream colored shirt. Ed caught her observations, but tried to act as he normally would; friendly, courteous and cheerful.

“Are you ready to go get that dress now?” he asked as they finished the dishes.

“Oh, yes. Are we going back to Mervyn’s?”

“Mmm, no, let’s try Neiman Marcus. They ought to have something suitable.”

“Oh my! Aren’t they expensive?”

“They are, but we want you to make a good impression. Don’t worry, we still have some money left, and we don’t have to pay Al just yet.”

“Al?”

“Our attorney. He’s a really nice man. He won’t bill us until we start generating a little revenue. Come on, let’s go before the crowds hit.”

Ed had Violet model several white dresses, but they both kept coming back to the same one, a simple silk sheath with a tiny gold belt and a demure neckline. The hem stopped just above her knees. It and the loose short sleeves were trimmed with gold-colored threads twisted into the appearance of a tiny chains.

“It’s beautiful,” Violet said as she tried it on for the last time, “but it’s just too much money to pay for a dress.”

“It’s your own money, angel. Besides, you need it.” Ed checked his wallet. There was just enough, plus some change to let them eat on for a couple of weeks. “We’ll take it.” He paid the tab.

Violet hurried back into the dressing room to change without further argument. She came out a moment later carrying the dress as carefully as a piece of Steuben crystal. After it was hung and slid into a garment bag, he took her by the hand and led her away. “One more stop, and we’re done,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“Cosmetics. You won’t need much, but you have to have some.”

“Oh, no,” she protested. “My parents never allowed me to wear makeup. Pentecostals don’t believe in it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s like the w—that woman from Babylon. It causes temptation.”

“That may be so, but we still need it for the cameras.”

“Why?”

“Haven’t you ever seen politicians or public speakers being made up for television? If they aren’t, the cameras make them look washed out and anemic. Don’t worry, if you don’t want to, you only have to wear it while you’re on screen.” He let go of her hand as they approached the cosmetics department.

“I’m embarrassed. I don’t know what to ask for,” Violet leaned up and whispered in his ear.

“Let’s keep it simple. I think a light red lipstick will suit you, and we’ll get a package each of eyeliner and blush, and experiment with what looks best this evening.”

“I won’t even know how to put it on.”

“I’ll help,” Ed said.

Violet was embarrassed when Ed came into her bathroom to help with the makeup, but she displayed only a slight color. She was becoming accustomed to living in the same apartment with a man. After some experimentation, he decided on an eyeliner that complemented the deep blue depths of her eyes. That, with her lips lightly tinged and a minimum blush for her cheeks, was all he thought she needed. He didn’t want to overdo it. “Now put on your dress, and let’s check you out.”

She changed and came back into the living room, walking slowly. Ed was awed. If she couldn’t pass for a modern angel now, then the whole world must be blind. “Violet, you’re absolutely beautiful.” He had to turn away to keep himself from going to her and crushing her into his arms.

“If I am, it’s all thanks to you.” She stood still, hoping he would come to her. Instead, he glanced at his watch, and saw that it was nearing three o’clock.

“Angel, I’m going to have to leave for a while. Al wanted me to meet him this afternoon to go over a few things about our tax status and how we should handle the press.” He hated himself for the lie, but if he stayed any longer he knew it would be even harder to leave. Besides, while he knew she was waiting to be kissed again, he also knew she wasn’t ready for a sexual union, but he most certainly was.

Disappointment suffused her face and body like a gambler who had just lost his last nickel. He left her standing like that, and hurried away before he could change his mind.

“Ahh,” Ed said, taking his first long drink of scotch. Lori sat opposite him with a glass of wine. She had suggested that they go to her apartment rather than a lounge to talk business. Ed was grateful for that, not only because her bedroom was just a few feet away, but because he didn’t think his finances could have stood a very big bar bill. He was apprehensive, though, since Lori lived on the premise, and her apartment wasn’t that far removed from their own. Oh well, if Violet happened to find out where he had gone, he could always tell her that he and Lori were discussing the lease.

“You act as if you’ve had a hard day,” Lori said.

“Shopping is always hard on a man.”

“What were you shopping for?”

“A dress.”

Lori stared at him. “Don’t tell me you’re a cross-dresser.” Apparently she didn’t mind sexual overtures in order to get noticed by a TV camera, but there were limits.

Ed laughed. “No, it was a dress for Violet. I want her to look good when the reporters show up.”

“Couldn’t she have bought a dress for herself?”

“No, she’s sort of, uh, unsophisticated.”

“Oh. Say, just what is your relationship with her? Do you two have something going?” She remembered that they had rented a two-bedroom apartment, and that Ed called her an associate.

“We’re in business together, that’s all. How about you? Are you going with anyone?”

She was, but avoided mentioning it in favor of a chance to get in front of a camera. “Not really. I just sort of date around.” She moved closer to Ed on the couch. Camera or no, boyfriend or not, he was a damned good looking man, and appeared to be prosperous, judging by the way he dressed.

“Me, too,” Ed said, getting up to pour more scotch. Lori came over while he was manipulating the bottle. He admired the suggestive bounce of her torso as she moved. He wondered if she ever wore a bra.

“I’m glad you’re not involved,” Lori said. “I have to be sort of careful since I live here. That’s why I haven’t said much to you since you moved in. When do you think the reporters will show up?” She wanted to be prepared and dressed in enough finery to outshine the sexy peacock he lived with when they appeared. That would be a chore, she knew, having seen Violet from time to time as they went back and forth on errands.

“Probably tomorrow morning,” Ed said. “In the meantime, I just want to relax and unwind. I’ve been under a lot of tension from the preparations.” He kneaded his neck as if the muscles there were knotted up worse than a ball of twine just worked over by a kitten.

“I understand,” Lori said. “Why don’t you lay down here and let me rub some of the kinks out? I’m a good masseuse.”

Ed was more than agreeable. He stretched out face down with his head in her lap. As her fingers worked on his neck and shoulders, he breathed in the heady aroma from her crotch.

“Oh, man, that was great,” he said, when he felt her fingers tiring. He sat up. “Turn around and I’ll do you.”

Lori turned her back to him, and he went to work, massaging outside her top at first, then sliding his hand up under it and along her spine. He pressed the sensitive muscles along each side of her backbone, up and down.

“Mmm. That feels good.”

“It feels even better in front.” Ed removed his hands from beneath her top and pulled gently at her shoulder to turn her around to face him. She closed her eyes and let him proceed. Before long, she joined the proceedings, no longer thinking of cameras or reporters. Ed was very good.

Later, as he was getting dressed, he said, “Lori, that was great. If you don’t mind, though, please don’t mention, or even insinuate to Violet that we spent some time together.”

So! Just another lothario, Lori thought. Too bad. She had enjoyed it, but was irritated at his dishonesty. “I thought you said you two didn’t have anything going.”

“We don’t. It’s just that she thinks of me as a—well, as sort of a saint.”

“You couldn’t prove it by me,” she pouted. “I’ll bet you don’t even have any reporters coming out here.”

“Yes, we do. Please, Lori. Don’t judge me until after they arrive. You’ll see then why she thinks so highly of me.”

“It better be good, Mr. Tanner, if you want to see me again.”

“Oh, it will be,” Ed said. Right now, he didn’t care whether he saw the apartment manager again or not, but he knew that sexual release lasted only a short time, and that before long his penis would again be sitting up and begging for attention. And Lori was convenient, even though she did live a little too close to him and Violet for comfort.

“I’ll call you,” he said as he left.

“You do that.” Lori was distracted. She was already trying to decide how to dress the next day for when the reporters showed up.

While Ed was relieving his libido, Al Depo showed up at the apartment building with reporters from all three TV stations in tow, as well as a gaggle of newspaper stringers. He tried to call and warn Ed that they were coming, but had neglected to get his phone number the previous day. Information couldn’t provide it either; it wasn’t yet in the system. There was no use trying to delay the impromptu press conference. Once he notified the stations, the story built a momentum of its own. He had no choice but to tag along and play it by ear, hoping they would be home.

The apartment’s office was closed. He turned to the trailing reporters and their cameramen, and spread his hands out, palms up. “Sorry, boys and girls. It says here the office is closed.”

With looks of disgust, the reporters began making suggestive movements as if they were ready to leave. Al wondered how he could persuade them to stay until he could locate Ed and his purported angel. If they suddenly decided to leave, he doubted that he could get them to return again. They were as fickle as the proverbial princess with the pea under her mattress. “I know they live here somewhere,” he said. “Just give me some time to locate them.”

“You got ten minutes,” the lead reporter of the biggest station said. The only reason he decided to wait that long was that he had seen the advertisement for God’s Fan Club in the early Sunday morning edition of the Chronicle, which always came out Saturday afternoon, and his nose for news smelled a story bigger than just that simple advertisement.

Al looked around, desperately hoping to spot someone that could give him directions. There! A man just turning the corner. He squinted. By God if it wasn’t Ed himself, and carrying that dopey look on his handsome fizz as if he had just belled the cat! As usual, he was letting himself be dragged around by his dick.

“There he is now!” Al said, pointing Ed out to the reporters. He was almost crushed by the stampede as the members of the press rushed toward him, shouting questions while the cameramen vied for the best position for their video equipment.

Ed was immediately surrounded by a shouting, crowding mass of animated figures barking questions and poking microphones into his face. Oh, shit, he thought. They’re here early. Now what in hell am I going to do?

He wasn’t given time to think

“Mr. Tanner, When did you decide to start God’s Fan Club?”

“What did the Chronicle say when you placed that ad?”

“What makes you think you have a direct line to God?”

“Is God really going to answer people’s letters?”

“What do you think the churches are going to say when they hear about this? Do you think they’ll call it blasphemy?”

“Where did you get that address for God?”

“Mr. Tanner, turn this way!”

“Is the post office going to file charges?”

Ed was confused and overwhelmed, but like the good bunkum artist that he was, he rolled with the punches. He held up both hands and stepped back.

“Ladies! Gentlemen! One question at a time. Or better still, wait here and I’ll let you talk with the woman who is the real body and soul of God’s Fan Club. I’m just the manager.”

“Did you woman? Who else is involved?”

“What does she look like?”

“She looks like an angel. She may even be one. Please, just give me a few minutes, and I’ll bring her out.”

Several reporters scribbled angel in their notebooks. Ed really had their attention, now.

He ignored further questions as the gang trailed him to the entrance of their apartment, but made sure he kept what he hoped was a humble smile on his face while the video cameras whirred. Damn it, why hadn’t Al warned him? He caught Al’s eye and got a shrug in return, then he remembered that he hadn’t given him their phone number. Shit.

“Wait here, or better yet, wait out by the pool. I’ll bring Violet out to meet you,” he said.

“Violet? Is that her name?”

“What’s her last name?”

“How old is she?”

“Is she a minister?”

Ed retreated inside to avoid further questions. He leaned back against the closed door and tried to gather his wits, breathing hard. Violet was not in sight. Oh, God, please let her be here, he prayed. “Violet!” he called. “Where are you?”

Violet came out from her bedroom. Dressed in her new shorts and a tee shirt that had shrunk after the first washing, she wasn’t wearing a trace of makeup. She smiled at him. He gaped at her.

Chapter Nine

Ohmigod!” Ed said, staring at her shapely legs and the contours of her rounded breasts beneath the tee shirt.

“Ed, what’s wrong?” Violet said, then noticed how his gaze was traveling up and down her scantily clad body.

“You can’t go out dressed like that!” he shouted.

Violet hung her head, shamed. “I’m sorry, Ed. You had me buy them, and I thought … I thought…” She burst into tears.

“No, no, don’t cry, angel. You look great, but quick, you have to change.” Without thinking, he ran to her and began tugging at her tee shirt. Violet was too astonished to resist. Before she knew what was happening, he had the tee shirt up over her head and off her body. “Come on, angel, get out of those shorts and into your white dress. The reporters are here!”

She stood stock still in shock for a moment, hands down to her side, before the words registered. Ed suddenly realized that he was staring at her full breasts, concealed only by an old bra which had been washed so many times that it was practically transparent. He averted his gaze at the same time that she crossed her arms over her chest in a protective gesture.

Oh, God, he thought, realizing what a start he must have given her. If he hadn’t come to his senses in time, he would probably have begun pulling down her shorts. “I’m sorry, angel. I didn’t mean anything. But really, you have to hurry and change. The reporters are already outside. Go get in your dress and slap some makeup on. No, don’t slap it on, but hurry!”

Relieved, she said, “Oh, goodness, I’ll try. Here, give me that.” Her face flamed as she took her tee shirt from his hand and disappeared inside her bedroom.

Ed was so agitated he was practically jumping up and down, not only from the impending press conference, but by the image of Violet in her bra, now riveted into his brain. He forced himself to calm down and get organized. First things first. After leaving Lori’s place, he had stopped by the liquor store and picked up another bottle of wine. While he worked the cork loose, he called out, “Violet! What’s the file name the press release is under?”

Her voice came back to him, muffled by the intervening door. “It’s not ready yet. You were going to do it this afternoon, remember?”

Oh damn it all, he had forgotten. He cocked his ear to make sure the reporters were still there. Yes, he could hear their voices, talking among themselves, or perhaps to Al. Thank God for Al. He’d keep them occupied until he could get Violet ready. He looked at the wine bottle in his hand and tilted it to his mouth. It might not go very good on top of scotch, but he needed another drink. On second thought, it probably wouldn’t hurt for Violet to have a bracer herself before going outside. He grabbed one of the plastic glasses and poured it full. Now what to do about a press release? Reporters always wanted a handout to refer to. Shit, why couldn’t he have waited a few more days before hitting on Lori? Well, no choice but to improvise and hope that Violet would carry out her part well enough to make the story believable.

He stopped worrying when she opened her bedroom door and stepped out into the living room. Violet’s wholesome, innocently beautiful face and smile, combined with her golden hair and the simple, yet seductive white dress gave an ethereal, achingly lovely appearance, with an underlying sensuality which was only accented by what appeared to be a serene, calm demeanor. He noticed a slight tremor to her hands, though, and picked up the wine glass.

“Here, drink this,” he said, handing it to her.

She remembered its calming effects from the previous evening, and didn’t argue this time. She was scared. She drank half the libation while Ed watched.

“Do I look all right? Did I get the makeup on right?”

He had never seen a more gorgeous woman, not anywhere. “Like you just stepped down from heaven,” he said, meaning it. “Ready?”

“I guess. Oh, Ed, stay close to me, or I don’t think I’ll be able to go through with this.”

“I’ll be right by your side, all the time.” Damned straight. If he didn’t stay close, one of those male reporters might get carried away and try hustling her off. “Come on, now, let’s get it over with.”

The cacophony of voices died away like the tail end of a thunderstorm as they made their appearance. Ed led her to a strategic spot where the backdrop of the pool and the cleanly sculptured landscape beyond would provide a good background. The reporters gawked and parted before them like waves receding from the wake of a speedboat. When he reached the spot he had picked out, he turned and held up his hands to still a hubbub of questions as the reporters began recovering from the shock of her appearance. He dug into his memory and began adlibbing.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I must apologize for the lack of a press release to give you. Our computer is down, but I promise to have it ready in the morning, even if we have to use someone else’s facilities, just as we were forced to use an attorney, Mr. Alfred Depo here, before the newspaper would accept our advertising.

“In the meantime, let me give you some brief background information. As you may have heard, I have been called to begin a fan club in God’s name, just as a minister might be called to assume the pastorship of a church. After receiving the call, I prayed diligently, not fully understanding God’s instructions.

“Fortunately, my prayers were answered, in part, by meeting Miss Violet Smith a few days ago. I sincerely believe that our coming together was preordained, especially in view of the fact that I am a humble man, untrained in theology. Before Miss Smith appeared, I despaired, knowing that I wasn’t worthy of answering God’s fan mail in a manner that would adequately reflect His glory and concern for His children.

“Miss Smith also believes she has been called, and she is eminently qualified to speak on God’s behalf. She is an unblemished virgin, an unworldly woman who spent her formative years in a girl’s religious academy until the event of her parent’s tragic death in an accident, just one short year ago.

“Since then, she has been associated with the Salvation Army, succoring the hungry and homeless men and women of our city, while spreading God’s teachings among them.

“You can expect more information concerning Miss Smith when our press release is ready, and a fuller explanation of the purposes and aims of God’s Fan Club at the same time. Now, may I present Miss Violet Smith, God’s amanuensis. Thank you.”

Ed stepped back and surreptitiously crossed his fingers. It was all up to Violet now. The reporters crowded in close to her.

“Miss Smith, you look more like a movie star than a preacher. Is this a publicity stunt?” Trust reporters to be cynical, Ed thought.

“I am not, never have been, and do not ever intend to be a movie star.”

Good, Ed thought. Keep the answers simple. Don’t elaborate. He had gone over that point with her during their rehearsal.

“If I understood the meaning of amanuensis, you intend to answer questions directed to God. What gives you that right?”

Violet stood with her back straight, arms hanging naturally at her sides and spoke in a gentle, firm voice. “There are a billion Catholics in the world who believe the Pope speaks as God directs. Is this any different?”

“The Pope is ordained, Miss Smith. Are you?”

Violet smiled at the jaded female reporter who had asked that question. “No, I am not ordained. Neither was Jesus.”

“Jesus was the Son of God. Are you claiming to be His daughter?”

“We are all children of God. Jesus himself said that.”

“Let me ask you a question and see what God says,” a male voice shouted.

“Would you have me attempt to interpret God’s answer without going to Him in prayer first? Please, sir, if you want to ask God a question, join His fan club, then write Him a letter.”

“It’s a scam!” someone shouted.

“Is that what it is, Miss Smith?”

“Not at all. I have personally invested my life’s savings in this project.” She gave a pixyish little laugh. “In fact, if we don’t get a number of subscribers soon, I may have to ask the Salvation Army to take me and Mr. Tanner back.”

That brought a riffle of chuckles, but also another question. “You said you and Mr. Tanner. Are you two living together?”

“Yes, we are.”

“Didn’t I hear him say that you were a virgin?” a salacious male reporter asked, satisfaction at catching her in a lie tingeing his voice.

“He spoke correctly. I am a virgin. We have separate bedrooms.”

Ed breathed a sigh of relief. He had intended to plant that question just so any insinuations of cohabitation could be dispelled at once, but the reporter had unknowingly beaten him to the punch.

“Are you dating anyone, Miss Smith?”

“No. In fact, I have been kissed only twice in my life.”

That got another chuckle, along with a muttering of disbelief.

“Did you like it?” a sympathetic female asked.

“The first time I didn’t. The second time I did.”

“Does that mean you intend to be kissed again?”

“If God wills it, yes.”

“Who kissed you the second time?”

“A dear, godly man. I would rather not make his name public at this time.”

A fat TV reporter whom Ed recognized as a weekend anchor asked the next question. “Will you be making your letters and answers public?”

“Yes we will, though Mr. Tanner says that we shouldn’t reveal the letter writers’ identities.”

“When can we expect to hear some of your answers?”

“Never.”

“What? Didn’t you just say—” A barrage of queries drowned her out for a moment. She repeated herself. “You will never hear my answers. Anything I have to say will be a response from God, not me.”

“Mr. Tanner said that he would be managing the fan club. What are his qualifications?”

“He has been called by God.”

Ed began relaxing. Violet was a natural, or perhaps her belief in heavenly guidance made her appear to be. Her voice was never strident, never condescending. She responded to each question as though the answer should have been obvious and she was only making it plainer. A moth flew past her face, attracted by the camera lights and she never blinked. The only incongruence he noticed was when Lori, roused by the noisy crowd, had hurriedly dressed in her finery and joined the throng, doing her best to get into a position to be noticed. As the cameras and microphones were all pointed toward Violet at the time, she edged close to Ed, trying to grasp his arm as if she belonged with him. He shook her off, but not before Violet noticed her blatant possessiveness, and shot a load of daggers in her direction.

The questions went on and on. He thought it would have broken up sooner except for the fact that most of the male reporters seemed to be mesmerized by Violet’s beauty and her quiet air of competence. Finally, he called a halt, wanting to save room for an encore. Always leave them hanging.

“One more question!”

“All right, one more, then we’re done.” He looked over the crowd. It had thinned a bit as some left to file their stories before their deadlines.

“You said you were almost destitute after spending your savings, Miss Smith. What will you do if the Salvation Army won’t take you back?”

“God will provide,” Violet said without a doubt in her voice.

“That’s all. Good night. Thank you for coming,” Ed said. A few minutes later they were left standing alone, except for Al Depo. He reached for Violet’s hand and shook it enthusiastically. “Miss Smith, Boilerroom said you were an angel, and now I believe it.”

“Boilerroom?” Violet questioned, momentarily forgetting Ed’s earlier explanation.

Ed coughed. “Violet, this is Al Depo, our attorney. We were acquainted back when I was working for the telephone company.”

“Oh, yes, I remember now. You said that was your nickname. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Depo. Thank you very much for giving us some time before submitting your bill. We appreciate it.”

Al glanced sideways at Ed, catching the drift. “It’s nothing, Miss Smith. Glad to help. Well, I guess I better get going. It’s getting late.” He threw Ed a wink as he turned away.

“Whew, I’m glad that’s over with,” Ed said. “Angel, you were terrific. Connie Chung couldn’t have done any better.”

“I’m sure God helped. Don’t you think so?”

“I’m certain of it,” Ed agreed. “Come on, let’s go inside. It’s getting cool out.”

Once he closed the door behind them, Violet began trembling.

“What’s wrong, angel?”

“I shouldn’t have embarrassed you by talking about that kiss. I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t the least bit embarrassed.”

“You’re sure?”

“Certain. Here, let’s have a glass of wine before bed.”

“Another celebration?”

“A toast to an angel. Enjoy it. We’re so broke now, that I won’t be able to buy us anymore until we get some money.”

“How long do you think that will be?”

“A week, anyway. We have to allow that much time for the post office to deliver.” He stood up and paced while polishing off his drink. He didn’t want to sit close to Violet. The tugging, subsurface attraction to her was becoming almost irresistible, and he didn’t want to hurt her. It was going to be bad enough when this scam collapsed, as all of them did eventually, and he had to abandon her. Or more probably, when she abandoned him after she discovered what a reprobate he was.

He finished his glass of wine, and helped her to her feet. “Let’s say good night now. I’ll go out early and get the papers so we can see how the press conference played.”

“All right.”

Ed noticed that she was trembling again. He knew what she was waiting for. He bent over and kissed her waiting lips. “Good night, angel. Sleep tight. Don’t forget to say your prayers.”

The trembling stopped. “Good night, Ed. I won’t.”

Inside her own room, she hugged herself, then began undressing. Before turning out the light, she spotted the pair of shorts she had worn briefly before the press conference. She left them where they lay, knowing now that Ed wouldn’t mind at all if she put them on tomorrow. And I won’t, either, she thought. Not around him.

Chapter Ten

Ed woke up early, eager to see the morning papers. He showered and shaved quickly, threw on a pair of slacks and shirt, and drove the Bronco to a convenience store where he picked up a newspaper and some fresh donuts. He made himself wait until he got back and had coffee going before allowing himself to separate the religious section of the newspaper from the dross.

God’s Fan Club was the featured article, along with excerpts from the press conference. There was a quarter-page colored photo of Violet in her white sheath. Even the reproduction couldn’t hide her extraordinary beauty and angelic expression. It showed her with thumb and forefinger touching her chin and a faint, almost invisible furrow between her eyebrows as she concentrated on what to say next. Below the photo was a caption, then the text of the article:

MODERN MADONNA TO ANSWER LETTERS TO GOD

Violet Smith answers call to serve as spokesman for God’s Fan Club

Yesterday, Violet Smith, in association with Edward Tanner, announced the formation of a fan club designed for those who prefer to write God directly rather than communicate by prayer. Miss Smith, in an interview held on the premises of the apartment where she resides with Mr. Tanner (in separate bedrooms, she says), promised that anyone who joins God’s Fan Club might write directly to Him and receive a personal answer.

Miss Smith says that she and Mr. Tanner have received a call from God, and that the fees for joining His Fan Club will be used only for expenses. She related that she has donated her life savings in order to get the club going, and that she is otherwise destitute.

In her interview, she was questioned extensively concerning her qualifications for this new position. She made reference to the Pope, stating that funneling answers from God through her is no different than the Pope relating God’s will to his constituency.

Prior to becoming associated with God’s fan Club, Miss Smith attended a religious girl’s school, and since graduation has devoted all her time to The Salvation Army. Further questioning unveiled the fact that Miss Smith is still a virgin and has only been kissed twice in her life. She said that…

The article was continued on the next page. Ed read it through twice, then switched on the television. The only set they had been able to afford was so old that it lacked a remote control, and he spent ten minutes or more getting up and sitting back down before finding a channel that carried the story. Reminded of how impressed he was with the quality of Violet’s camera presence, he found himself wishing that when this operation was over he could take her with him. Whatever he got into next, she was bound to be an asset. No, forget that. When it was over, she would almost certainly never want to speak to him again, and there was nothing he could think of to do about it. It was too bad, though. He found himself liking her more and more as the days went by. He heard her door open and looked around.

She was again dressed in shorts, revealing long, tapering legs, which would have done justice to any Las Vegas showgirl, and a buttoned yellow short-sleeved blouse. The buttons should have been earning wages for the work they were doing.

“Hi, angel. You look good enough to eat. Did you sleep good?”

Violet was becoming used to his compliments on her looks. She no longer blushed at every remark he made about her appearance. “Oh, yes. I was so glad everything went well that I dozed right off.” She glanced at the television, wondering what he was watching so early in the morning. She saw her own image looking back at her, and gasped in surprise. Her hands rose to her face as if to make sure she was the real person rather than the image on the screen.

Ed grinned. “You look just as good on camera as off. If this doesn’t get us some business, nothing will.” He admired her legs some more. “However, don’t go outside dressed like that. Some more reporters might show up today.”

She looked away from the TV, then down at her bare legs. “It’s just as well. I don’t feel really comfortable like this. I’ve never worn shorts before.”

“The world doesn’t know what it’s been missing. Hey, have a look at this.” He handed her the section of newspaper he had been reading.

The attractive little furrow appeared between her eyebrows, a replica of the one on the newspaper page, then it faded as she began to read. She glanced up from time to time to gauge Ed’s reaction. Each time, he grinned at her, enjoying her behavior.

“Pretty neat, huh?” he said when she had finished and laid the paper on the kitchen table.

“It’s like reading about a movie star or something. I can hardly believe it’s me they’re talking about.”

“Just wait,” he said. “Before long they’ll be wanting you for all the talk shows.”

“This is all going so fast. I’ll just be glad when we get our first letters, so I can concentrate on praying for the right answers. And speaking of praying, it will be time for church before long. Where should we go?”

Ed didn’t want to go anywhere. He hadn’t been inside a church in twenty years, and hoped it would be another twenty before the possibility came up again. “I think we should stay inside today. In fact,” he said, getting a sudden idea which would keep him and her both from having to attend services, “I don’t think either of us should appear in a church. We don’t want to have anyone think we’re affiliated with any specific denomination. We want to appeal to the broadest spectrum possible.”

“That sure will be hard for me. I haven’t missed going to church on Sunday since I was a little girl.”

“It will be hard on me, too,” Ed said. “We’ll just have to help each other with the sacrifice.”

Violet considered, and upon second thought, decided that staying inside and alone with Ed seemed like a good idea, even if it did strike her as being slightly blasphemous. She decided that later on she would pray for guidance. That helped allay her concern. In the meantime, her eyes kept shifting to the news program where her interview was still being featured. Like any normal person, she discovered that seeing herself on film made it almost impossible to resist watching. Ed poured her some coffee, and she seated herself beside him. Every few minutes, he got up and switched channels to see where else the story was being televised. Before long, she forgot all about it being Sunday, and that she would ordinarily have been singing the Lord’s praises about that time.

In an apartment across the pool and around a corner from them, someone else was already up and surfing the channels, following the same program. Lori was still irritated at the rude way Ed had disengaged himself from her when she had tried pairing off with him when the reporters were there. Taking a hard look at Violet’s fresh young face and body, and comparing it to her own rather worn countenance, almost caused her to sympathize with him, but not quite, not after the way he had used her body then discarded her for that innocent-looking little blond Jesus freak. God’s Fan Club! A virgin, kissed only twice in her life! What a crock! What if she knew that Ed Tanner had come directly from her bed to that interview? What if everyone knew? Now that was an idea. If the story held together, she might hold her own press conference, and then see who got all the publicity!

Ed and Violet spent the day designing letterheads for God’s stationary and setting up a mail merge program. He checked their supply of stamps and address labels and decided that they would last until they could afford a mass mailing permit. If the newspaper and television stories generated the amount of interest he thought they would, they would need one. While they rummaged through the desk getting it organized for the anticipated mail, he saw the little package of fake rubber postage cancellation stamps he had bought. Fortunately, they were still wrapped up.

“What’s in that package?” Violet asked, picking it out from the back of the drawer before Ed could conceal it.

“Oh, that’s just some things I bought the other day that I thought we would need for the office. As it turns out, I don’t think we will. Here, give them to me, and I’ll return them and get our money back,” he said.

Violet trusted Ed, but her curiosity was piqued. “What kind of things were they?”

“Uh, just things,” he said, failing for once to think on his feet. He panicked as Violet began unwrapping the package.

“No, no, angel. You can’t see what’s in there!”

“Why not? Ed, please don’t tell me you’re concealing anything from me.”

Ed recovered. He dropped his gaze and made an effort to look guilty, which wasn’t hard to do at the moment. “Well … actually I am.” He pried the package from her fingers and dropped it into his pocket. “You weren’t supposed to see this yet.”

“Why on earth not?”

“Well, I haven’t had a chance to get it gift-wrapped yet. Please don’t ask me any more questions about it now.”

Gift-wrapped? Had he bought her a present? She tried not to act pleased, but it was hard to contain her excitement. What else could the package be except a gift? She felt the thumping of her heart and looked away. At the same time, she prayed silently for him because of the little white lie. What else could he have said if it were a present? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have questioned you.”

“That’s all right. I should have hidden it better.” He smiled at her, grateful for his deft mind, which could come up with extemporaneous excuses or explanations so readily. The only thing was, now he would have to buy her some little gift, and almost all of their money was gone. Well, she would appreciate it the more for waiting. In the meantime, he had to try to think of a place to hide the stamps so she wouldn’t discover them a second time. He intended to use them later in the week.

There were a half-dozen of the stamps, each with the name of a different large city, and they came with a section where the date could be easily adjusted. Ed intended to write some fictitious letters, which he thought would garner a lot of attention, then mingle them with the real ones when he emptied the post office box. While shopping for office supplies, he had remembered one of his first conversations with Violet, where something she said made him think that a little humor in response to fake letters from famous and infamous personalities, and from persons existing only in his imagination, should be mixed with the real mail. He intended to compose these letters if he could ever get Violet away from the computer, and himself alone with it for a while. He wished she knew how to drive so that he could send her on a shopping trip of some kind, but then he remembered that even if she could, they didn’t have any money to shop anyway. It was a quandary.

With no money to go anywhere or do anything, Ed continued working with the computer. The next morning, while Violet washed her hair, he set up a closed file accessible only by using his own password. That evening, he sent her off to bed, telling her that he wasn’t sleepy and wanted to sit up for a while and work on the newsletter for fan club members.

“I’ve heard you mention it, but what do we need with this newsletter?” Violet asked.

“Well, we know we’re honest, but some people are bound to be suspicious of us. I thought a newsletter to explain and tell about all our activities would be a nice touch. We can even make it public, so that the media will realize that we don’t intend to defraud anyone.”

Violet laughed merrily at the very idea of him ever being involved in fraud. There were others, though, who didn’t know him as well as she did. “That sounds like a good idea, Ed. You’re so smart.”

“Thanks, angel. Why don’t you run off to bed now? I’ll turn in as soon as I get sleepy.”

“All right.” She held her face up for a kiss. It was becoming a nightly ritual, one she found herself anticipating during the day. One day soon, she hoped he would really kiss her, the way the characters did on the TV programs she had begun to watch for lack of anything more interesting to do in the apartment. Ed still insisted that she stay inside, even though no more reporters had shown up. She felt the presence of her mother’s disapproving spirit hovering over her at some of the activities shown on the screen, but she watched a lot of them, anyway. There had been no television in her home while she was growing up.

Ed was worried. Finances were low, and he didn’t want the story about God’s Fan Club to wither away for lack of further news, so while Violet slept, he worked. First, he made a few sketches and typed out some ideas for the proposed newsletter, and left them scattered about the desk so that Violet would be sure to see them the next morning. Next, he typed up a number of fictitious letters to God, printed them out and placed them in stamped envelopes. All the while he listened intently for sounds that might indicate Violet was up and moving about, ready at a moment’s notice to close his secret file and boot up a more innocuous one. Finally, still keeping his ears open, he took out the fake cancellation stamps and used them to imitate a postmark on each letter. He placed the official-looking mail and the stamps in his briefcase, locked it, then took himself to bed.

“I thought I heard the printer going last night,” Violet said the next morning as she prepared breakfast, a sparse meal of scrambled eggs and toast. Besides money, they were even running low on groceries.

“I made some trial runs for the newsletter. Also, I wrote a few letters to some radio stations.” He told the last lie just in case she noticed that some of their envelopes were missing.

She slid their plates onto the table and poured coffee. He sat down and began to eat, appreciating the service. Most of the women he had lived with were more interested in taking care of themselves rather than him. “What do we have planned for today?” she asked.

Ed took a bite of eggs heaped onto toast. He noticed that the bread was getting stale, but that was all they had. “I need to run to the post office and mail these letters, first thing.”

“Oh, can I go with you? I’m tired of sitting in the house all day.” She looked at him eagerly, like a puppy wanting to be taken for a walk.

“Better not,” he said. “I think we need to keep you under wraps for a few more days.” Seeing her disappointment, he reconsidered. The reporters still hadn’t come back. “Tell you what. Why don’t you go for a swim and check out your new bathing suit while I’m gone? You’ll have time to get back inside if anyone comes looking for you.” He really hoped that someone from the media would, but he hoped to be on hand if they did, to give the meeting the right spin, and more importantly, get her out of the skimpy suit before she was recognized. It wouldn’t fit in with the image of her he was trying to create. On the other hand … an idea blossomed and he stored it away for future use.

Violet didn’t quite understand why he wanted her to stay out of sight. It seemed to her that after the press conference, being seen in public shouldn’t matter, but she trusted Ed. His call was genuine, and the Lord was directing him.

“Maybe I’ll just go out and sit by the pool,” she said.

“It’s heated. Go ahead and take a dip.”

“I haven’t been in a swimming pool since I was a little girl. Mother always said these modern suits were temptations from the devil, designed to entice lust in men. I think I would be too embarrassed to wear the one you bought for me.”

Ed had trouble concealing his mirth. She was one of a kind. “I have a few dollars left. Tell you what, I’ll run by the liquor store and get some more wine. Try having a glass of it before going outside. It will relax you.”

“You don’t think that suit is too exhibitionist? I don’t want to cause us any problems.”

He thought the only problem she would cause in those little red scraps of material would be to add too much heat to the pool. He said, “You could cause a riot wearing a raincoat. Go ahead and wear it. I’ll say a prayer for you.”

“All right, if you say so. I’ll pray, too.”

“Great. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” He really did say a prayer after he came back with the wine. He prayed that he would get back from the post office in time to see her in the bikini.

Chapter Eleven

The first publicity appeared on television and in the newspaper Sunday morning, so Ed wasn’t expecting much of a response yet at the post office. He unlocked the optimistically large box he had rented, thinking that at the most there would only be some junk mail and perhaps a couple of queries. He swung the door open and jumped back as an avalanche of envelopes began pouring out of the box and dropping to the floor. There were so many of them that the pile inside had become unwieldy. He stared as the deluge covered his feet up to his ankles. He bent over and looked cautiously into the box. There were still more inside, heaped up and threatening to fall over and join those on the floor.

“You must be popular,” a bystander commented.

Ed was amazed. “They’re probably all Christmas cards,” he said. “Say, you wouldn’t have a bag of some kind you could loan me, would you?”

“Try inside. Maybe they can help.” The man took a closer look at the pile of letters. “Hey, most of these are addressed to God. What’s going on here?”

“I guess God likes Christmas cards.”

The stranger scrutinized him suspiciously as Ed bent over and began gathering up the letters. Suddenly he made the connection. “Hey, I know you! You were on TV last Sunday. These aren’t Christmas cards, they’re fan letters!”

“Maybe some of the fans sent God Christmas cards.”

The man guffawed. “Maybe they did! Hey that was a great idea you had. Here, let me help.” He took off his suit coat and spread it out on the floor, then began piling letters onto it. Ed accepted the idea, and spread out his own coat. Between the two of them, they managed to bundle up the huge pile of mail in the suit jackets.

“Where’s your car?” the friendly stranger asked.

“Just outside. Say, thanks for the help. I appreciate it.” Ed led the way to the parking lot and opened the rear door of the old Bronco.

His helper untied his coat and shook the letters into the space. “Glad I was handy. Say, can I get the address from you? My old lady said if this thing turned out to be legitimate, she wanted to write a letter and see what God says our daughter is up to at college. You know?”

“It would be a pleasure,” Ed said. He waited while the man wrote down the box number address, then shook hands with him.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. I’m sure God will tell Miss Smith exactly how to help you.” He got in the Bronco and drove off, happily thinking of all the new problems he suddenly had. We’ll need to get some business cards, he thought. And more stationary and stamps to hold us until the mass-mailing permit is approved. My God, we may even have to hire a secretary if we keep getting this much mail! I wonder how much money we got today? We’ll have to open a checking account so Al can start draining off the cash. His spirits rose at the thought of cash like a sail plane riding a hot thermal.

From a window in the apartment complex office, Lori saw Violet come out to the pool. When she dropped her towel and stood for a moment before stepping tentatively into the water at the shallow end of the pool, Lori felt a knot of hot jealousy form in her breast. No woman had a right to a body like that, especially one purporting to be a representative of God. She thought missionaries of her ilk should wear shabby gray dresses with skirts down to the ankles and sleeves to the wrist—and have figures to match the clothes! And a sunbonnet, to cover up that burnished golden hair. Damn her, it looked natural, too. She just knew something funny was going on between her and Tanner, and she intended to find out what. Maybe that would get her picture in the newspaper, too.

Lori closed and locked the office and strolled casually toward the pool as if she were on an errand somewhere else in the complex. It was still early, and there was no one else there.

“Hello, there. Are you enjoying your swim?” she said.

Violet looked around from where she was sitting on the steps in the shallows, half submerged. It was the redheaded manager, the same one who tried to get close to Ed the other day at the press conference.

“Yes, the water feels nice and warm, but I don’t really swim, you know. My parents never allowed it.”

“They didn’t? I wouldn’t have expected you to own a swim suit, then.”

“Oh, I didn’t until just the other day. Mr. Tanner bought it for me.” Violet was trying to be polite, as she had been taught. It didn’t occur to her until after she spoke what her reply must have sounded like. Or implied.

“How generous of him. But men like him are always generous, especially with their favors. Don’t you think so?”

“What do you mean?”

Lori shrugged her shoulders. Her breasts moved beneath her blouse with the shrug. “Oh, you know what I mean. First they buy you a suit. Next thing you know, they’re doing their best to get you out of it.”

“Mr. Tanner isn’t like that. He is a God-fearing Christian, working for the Lord.”

Lori laughed. “You couldn’t prove it by me, but perhaps you know him better.”

“I know that he’s a fine man. He stays up all hours working in God’s name.”

“If you say so. Does he drink scotch while he works? I’ve heard that he does.”

Violet was confused. How would this woman know something like that? It couldn’t be true. All she had ever seen Ed drink was wine, and he had explained to her about that, convincing her that there was no harm in it. The woman must be lying. Silently, she prayed that God would forgive her. Aloud, she said, “If he ever drank scotch, it must have been before he got his call. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize our work.”

“Of course not. Was it him who gave you that second kiss?”

Violent colored all the way down to her shoulders, not because this rude redhead had guessed about her second kiss but as a reaction to the knowledge that it hadn’t been the last one, not by several. She was wondering whether to answer or simply pick up her towel and leave when she spotted Ed on a walkway dividing a block of apartments, heading toward their entrance. He was toting a large bag over his shoulder.

He saw her at almost the same time, with Lori standing over her at the edge of the pool. Oh, damn, this smells like trouble, he thought. What were they talking about? He increased his pace, hoping to ward off Lori before she spilled the beans about their tryst, if she hadn’t already.

“Good morning, Ed,” Lori said, throwing her shoulders back, the better to let him see the movement of her unconfined breasts beneath her blouse. It was a lost cause, though. Ed barely glanced at her. His eyes were all over Violet, who had raised herself from the water as he approached. Her bikini top revealed the upper slopes of her generous breasts, barely covering her nipples, then there was an expanse of creamy white skin indented into a tiny waist and continuing down and down until the bottom of the suit finally intervened briefly before exposing her long lovely legs.

“Hi, Lori. Hello, angel. God must have used you for a model when he created women. I’m going to have a hard time concentrating on this mail instead of you.”

“Is that what’s in the bag. You mean we really got some?”

“Did we ever! Come on, let’s get inside and start looking at it. We have a lot of praying to do.”

“Be sure and ask God for another suit for your girlfriend. This one looks as if it will dissolve if it gets wet very often.” Lori turned on her heel and trounced off. So, they were getting mail, and she just bet there wouldn’t be much praying over it! She looked over her shoulder once and saw that the man’s eyes were still locked on the figure in the tiny red bikini. A hint of an idea swirled around in her mind, something to do with Violet in her swimsuit, but it wouldn’t quite materialize. She stored it away, thinking that it might come back later in clearer form.

Ed didn’t even hear her last remark, nor did he turn to watch her leave. He was still mesmerized by the barely clad apparition standing in front of him, droplets of water glistening on her skin like diamond jewelry in the rays of the morning sun.

“That woman isn’t very friendly, nor truthful either,” Violet said. “She told me you had been drinking scotch while you were working, and I know that’s not true.”

“How would she know?” he said. “Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with scotch. You just have to use it in moderation, like wine.” He stood aside while Violet opened the door for him, and finally set the bag of mail down on the carpet with a sigh of relief. It had been getting heavy.

Violet followed him in. “Mother always said—”

“Did your mother tell you not to accept gifts from men?” Ed interrupted. After seeing the huge stack of mail and figuring there was bound to be money in some of the envelopes, he had spent his last twelve dollars on a pair of silver earrings, shaped into tiny stylized fish, the symbol of Christianity.

“N-no, not exactly, she said—”

“I finally got your present wrapped,” he said. At the store, he had insisted that the earrings be packaged in a container large enough to match the one that had contained the fraudulent cancellation stamps. He took it from his coat pocket and handed it to her.

Violet forgot all about the possible sinfulness of scotch. She had never received a present of any sort from a man. She fumbled with the wrapping paper and bow for a moment, then allowed Ed to help her. When she saw the gift, her reservations disappeared as swiftly as a magician deftly palming a card. How could she possibly not accept a gift so obviously selected with her religious beliefs in mind?

“Oh, Ed, they are beautiful. You shouldn’t have done it. I just love them!” She examined them like a prospective bride at the first sight of her engagement ring. Then she noticed a flaw.

“Oh, no!”

Ed knew what the matter was. “Don’t fret. Just as soon as we have time, we’ll go get your ears pierced.”

“Mother—”

“Would be proud of you for displaying a symbol of your faith. And silver suits you. I just wish I had the money for a necklace and bracelet to match.”

“Ed, you are so good to me. How can I thank you?”

“A kiss would go nice.”

She came into his arms. He kissed her thoroughly this time. He ran his hands over her bare back and shoulders, and played his fingers in her hair. She felt his hands touching her, and shivered with delight. Her lips parted, then Ed tore himself away before it could go any further. Damn it, he was falling for her, and that just wouldn’t do.

Violet was glad he had let her loose. She knew that at last she had found a man who was ideal in every way, but she couldn’t let herself go. The Lord was watching, and sex was for marriage, never before. Marriage? Could he possibly be thinking of that? And if he was, what was she going to do about it? Why, she hardly knew him. It was confusing and exciting at the same time.

They stood facing one another, each trying to think of something to say to lessen the tension. Violet became aware that she was hardly dressed, and inside their apartment at that. What must he think, her running around in a bathing suit that concealed less than her underwear did?

Ed was admiring her near-nakedness and wondering whether he dared touch her again.

The phone rang, providing a welcome excuse for him to tear his eyes away from her voluptuous body. He picked up the phone.

“Ed Tanner. Really? When? No, we’re too busy with the mail today. How about tomorrow? No, that’s too early. How about noon? No, the manager doesn’t want any more crowds here. No, that won’t do either. I’ve got it. How about the Interfaith Chapel out on the loop? Fine. We’ll be there at noon. Sure. Thank you.”

“Who was that?” Violet asked after listening to the one sided conversation.

“Channel Two, angel! They’ve had so much of a response to the last interview that they want another one. I scheduled it for noon tomorrow at the Interfaith Chapel on Loop 610. Does that suit you?”

“Oh, yes. Isn’t this wonderful, Ed? Just think, it all came about when you dropped your last quarter in our pot. Isn’t God great, the way He plans and directs us?”

“He sure is, but I wish He had given us a little more warning. We’re going to have a lot of things to take care of before tomorrow.”

“Like what?”

“Another new dress for you, for one thing. Opening an account for the dues money for another. And we had better get busy reading this mail, so we’ll know what to tell the reporters tomorrow.”

“Goodness, we had better get busy. I’ll go change clothes.”

Ed gave her one more longing scrutiny. He shook his head regretfully. “I love the way you’re dressed now, but I guess you had better change; otherwise, I’ll never get any work done.”

Chapter Twelve

Ed randomly mixed his fake letters in with the real ones when he stuffed the mail into a large shopping bag he found in the back seat of the Bronco, a relic from one of their earlier shopping expeditions. He and Violet sat on the floor side by side, with the pile of letters between them. She was dressed in a pair of newly washed jeans and a yellow sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up above her elbows.

He had her slit open the envelopes with a letter opener and hand them to him. He unfolded the letters and paper-clipped them to the envelopes, along with the cash, checks and occasional bits of accompanying literature, mostly religious tracts like those handed out by Jehovah’s Witnesses or Fundamentalist Baptists. After that he handed them back and she placed them into two stacks, divided by whether or not they contained money. Each time she bent forward to reach for another envelope, he could see by the way her shirt swelled out that she had forgotten to put on a bra before returning to help him sort the mail.

Violet hadn’t forgotten. She saw the way Lori blatantly displayed herself, trying to attract Ed’s attention. Even though he hadn’t appeared to notice, she wasn’t about to let the redhead outmaneuver her. It’s probably a sin, she thought, but certainly no more enticing than wearing that minuscule little swimsuit. Besides, it’s comfortable, and if that’s a sin, I’ll just add a prayer for forgiveness to the ones I say over the letters.

Before long, Ed noticed that many of the letters didn’t contain requests to join God’s Fan Club; rather they were simple contributions to Violet, usually accompanied by a note stating that the money was meant to help replace what she had spent to get the fan club rolling. He was astounded. Money for dues he had expected, but not this! When he pointed out his discovery to Violet, she exclaimed, “Oh, what kind, generous souls they must be. Should I accept the money, Ed?”

“I don’t see why not. After all, you did contribute your savings to get us started.”

“That’s not important. I wanted to do it.”

“All right, then,” he agreed. “We’ll add that money to the account, and use it to help with expenses. We’ll pay you back later.” He still did intend to see that she got her money back before he absconded, but his reaction had been automatic. When cash landed in his vicinity, his first instinct was to gather it in and worry about the details later.

“We should have more than enough. There’s an awful lot of money here.” Violet said.

There sure is, Ed thought. He was going to have to figure out a way very quickly to keep her from knowing how much was coming in. “It’s not as much as it looks like when you start figuring expenses,” he said. “There’s Al to pay, postage to answer the letters, money to live on, a better computer and a fax and copying machine, and then before long we’re going to have to rent an office and probably hire a secretary to help us with the paperwork.”

“There’s the Salvation Army, too.”

“Yes, we don’t want to forget them,” he said, wishing that they could. Violet would be adamant about contributing money to them. Well, he would just have to hold it down to as little as possible.

Once they had sorted all the mail into stacks of that containing money and that without, Ed insisted on a break. It was already getting into the afternoon.

“I’m going to run pick us up something to drink and some snacks for dinner. What would you like?”

“Well…”

“Speak up, angel. I’ll get whatever you want.”

“I’ll eat whatever you do, but—well, would it be sinful if I asked for some more of that good white wine? My back is getting tired.” She looked apprehensively at him.

He chuckled. “My thoughts exactly. Not only will I get the wine, I’ll rub your back for you before we go to bed tonight. We still have lots of work ahead of us.”

Ed separated a twenty dollar bill from one of the letters piled on the floor and replaced it with a Post-It note to remind him that the person there had paid his dues. He returned a few minutes later with two bottles, a wedge of cheese, crackers, and a small package of ham.

“Someone called while you were gone,” Violet said.

Uh oh. He hoped it hadn’t been Lori. “Who was it?”

“Channel twelve. They want another interview, too. I told them where we would be. Was that all right?”

“Sure. The more the merrier.”

After eating and finishing off most of one of the bottles, they got back to work. This time, he had them subdivide the letters into other categories: applications for membership, applications with accompanying questions to God, and crank letters. Once that was done, he took the stack with questions and began sorting through them with Violet’s help, tagging those containing no dues money with Post-its.

“Oh, look!” she exclaimed a few minutes later. “Here’s one from the president! Isn’t that exciting?”

“Boy, I’ll say. We really made a hit, didn’t we?” The letter from the president was one of the fakes.

“And look. This one is from O.J. I’ll really have to pray over it.”

The phone rang again. Ed answered it while Violet continued to scan the letters.

“Who was it this time?”

“The Houston Chronicle. They said they have never received so much reader mail. They also said they want to publish a sampling of your answers.”

“Oh, dear. There’s so many of them, how will I choose?”

That was the question he had been waiting for. “Angel, I know that I’m not nearly as close to God as you are, but I can already see that this is going to be too much work for you to handle by yourself. May I make a suggestion?”

“Why, of course. You had better suggest something, or I can see that I’ll be spending every waking moment praying.”

“We’ll advertise for a secretary tomorrow, but in the meantime, how about this: let’s separate the letters into those with religious questions or personal problems along those lines, and let you answer them. I’ll take the oddball ones, the weirdos and those from famous personalities. I know I won’t be able to do as good a job as you, but I promise to pray just as hard before answering.”

“I don’t see why not,” Violet said. “After all, you’re the one who got the call first. May I have another glass of wine, please?”

“Sure, but we better work while we drink. We need to finish sorting, then get to bed so we can get up early and start our answering; we’ll have to have something to show the media people in the morning.”

“And we have to allow time to pray beforehand.”

“Of course, that goes without saying.” He poured her another glass of wine.

The phone rang again.

A few minutes later, Violet ran across another of his spurious letters. “Oh, goodness. Here’s one from that lesbian tennis player. You had better answer it; I don’t know a thing about lesbians except that it’s a sin.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said, smiling to himself.

By the time the letters were all sorted, the wine had been sorted as well, into two empty bottles. Violet yawned. She stood up to stretch and almost fell over. “That’s strange,” she said. “I feel a little woozy.”

“You’ve been reading too much,” he said. “I think it’s time for bed. Go ahead and jump under the covers, and I’ll come in and give you that back rub.”

She walked unsteadily to her bedroom and closed the door behind her. A few minutes later she called out, “I’m ready.”

He sat on the side of the bed and began rubbing her neck and shoulders. As he felt the knotted muscles there relax, he eased down the sheet and began working along her spine through her nightgown. Seeing how thick and unattractive it was, he made a note to buy her a new one. Before he was finished with the massage, she was fast asleep. Ed stood up and looked gently down at her recumbent body. “I’m sorry, angel,” he said softly. “Try not to hate me too much when this is over.”

Before going to bed himself, he picked up the phone, and being as quiet as he could, dialed Al Depo’s home number.

“Hey, Ed, how’s it going? Are you getting any mail?”

“How about eight thousand dollars already?”

“You scoundrel! You’re going to make us both rich!”

“Let’s hope so. Look, Al, the media is all over us to do a follow-up on the original story. We’re holding another press conference at the Interfaith Chapel on the loop at noon tomorrow. Can you be there?”

“For eight K the first day, you’re damn right I can. What do you need?”

“I’m going to release a sampling of the letters Violet answers, but her responses are likely to be about as interesting as a late night movie. What I want you to do is leak a stack of letters that I’ve written and answered myself. Don’t give them out yourself; find someone else you can trust to do it.”

“No problem. I’ll use Ruthie.”

“I should have thought of her. One more thing: I need you to hire a private investigator and see if you can turn up anything on our apartment manager.”

“That tall redhead I saw nudging you at the press conference?”

“Yeah. Put a priority on it.”

“Private investigators are expensive, Ed.”

“Yeah, I know, but do it anyway.”

“Why can’t you ever learn to keep your pants zipped until you finish your business?”

“I don’t have Ruthie around to fuck when I get horny.”

Al laughed. “Okay, I’ll get on it. Anything else?”

They discussed the best method of getting Ed’s letters into the hands of the press. Al came up with a good suggestion, and Ed accepted it. He said, “That should do it for now. Thanks, Al.”

“No need for thanks. I’ll just add the charges to my share of the boodle. Good luck tomorrow.”

“No need for luck. God is watching over us.” He hung up the phone then booted up the computer. He opened his personal file and began answering letters, most of which he’d written himself, but also a few worthwhile ones that had come in the mail. He printed out the copies and locked them in his briefcase with the letters and answers stapled together, then went to bed himself, not forgetting to set the alarm. It had been a long day.

Chapter Thirteen

Ed let Violet sleep as late as he dared, then knocked on her door. He had to knock twice more before she answered. “Time to get up,” he called. “You’ve got some mail to pray over.”

“I’ll be out in a few minutes,” she said. Her muffled voice sounded shaky.

Ed had the coffee ready, knowing she would need it.

When she came out, she took the cup with a trembling hand. “For some reason, I have a headache this morning,” she said. “I don’t understand it. I never have headaches.”

“Maybe we got a bad batch of cheese. Drink your coffee and take a couple of aspirins. That should help.”

She took his advice, not knowing that she was suffering from her first hangover. While she sipped at her coffee, she looked at the stack of letters Ed had placed on the table at her place then glanced back up at him. “Where are the ones you were going to answer?”

“I got up early and finished them while I was having my coffee. Do you need some help with yours?”

“Let me pray first.” She took her letters and headed toward the bedroom with the coffee.

“Don’t be too long,” he said. “We still have to buy you another dress this morning.”

That perked her up some. Within a few minutes, he could hear her voice coming from the room, though it was too indistinct to make out the words. However, he knew she was praying. Eventually, she came back out, fully dressed, having discarded her housecoat in favor of slacks and blouse.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“All right, mostly. Here are the ones I’ve answered.” She smiled mirthlessly. “Actually, I think any good clergyman could have done as well. Most of the responses seemed obvious to me even before praying for help. I think God really was listening, though, because I did change a few of my answers.”

“May I see?”

“Certainly.” She passed over most of the missives to him, with her handwritten responses.

Ed scanned them rapidly. Time was pressing. As he suspected, most of her answers were as mundane as a country garden. See a clergyman. Get some counseling. Pray for forgiveness. Ann Landers could have done as well. It just proved to him that if God really did answer prayers, He was reluctant to put much authority behind his answers.

“These are fine,” he said. “I’m sure the press will appreciate having them.”

“How about those poor people asking for advice? Don’t forget about them.”

“I certainly won’t,” he said. Those poor people were the ones he was counting on, or rather more like them. Once they had paid their dues, they were of little further use. Or were they? Anyone silly enough to write to God would probably spring for an overpriced tee shirt or other memorabilia. It would have to be done quickly, though. The whole idea of the scam was to generate interest in the fan club so that membership and dues money would snowball, then close down before spending the money on the logistics of running the club. He doubted there would be enough renewals or new member applications the second year to make it worthwhile to stay in business that long; about three months would be the optimum unless he missed his guess. Nevertheless, he took out his notebook and wrote in it so that he wouldn’t forget about the tee shirts. Anything for money; the more the better.

Ed checked his watch. “I’d better get these typed up,” he said. He sat down in front of the computer and began working, using the same letterhead as that in the newspaper ad.

GOD

000 Infinity

The Universe

He closed the letters by typing in large letters:

GOD

When he was finished, he printed out two copies, one for the member and one for the press, then brought them back to the table and began scribbling an indecipherable signature above ‘God’ on each one.

Violet saw what he was doing. “Ed! How can you assume the responsibility of signing God’s name!” She was horrified.

He glanced up at her in apparent bewilderment. “Didn’t you say that you had prayed to Him before answering these letters? Please, angel, don’t tell me that you didn’t.”

“Of course I did, but—”

“Then they are from God, aren’t they?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Oh, I see. I’m sorry, angel. I just got in a hurry. It’s you who should be putting the signatures on them. How could I have thought I was worthy?” He pushed the stack over in front of her.

She hesitated, uncertain of the correctness of signing for God’s name.

“Hurry, angel. We still have to buy you that dress.”

Violet began signing the letters, albeit with some lingering doubts. If I didn’t trust Ed, she thought, I wouldn’t do it. Ed’s own letters carried the same heading, but the answers and closing were quite different. He was counting on the press printing samples of each after Al leaked the ones he had written. He thought the contrast and intrigue involved would generate more interest in the fan club than either alone. He also hoped Violet would still go along after his fiction was made public.

Ed had already detached five hundred dollars in cash from the letters containing money rather than checks, again leaving Post-it notes to keep the accounts straight. He hoped it wouldn’t take long to find a decent secretary. As soon as Violet was finished, he bundled the letters into a manila envelope and placed it in his briefcase on top of his own mail, being careful not to let her see it.

He heard Violet’s stomach rumble and knew she must be hungry, or at least feel the need of something solid to soak up the sour taste he knew must be pushing up on her diaphragm, but they were running out of time.

“Let’s go, angel. We have just enough time to get your dress before the conference. We’ll grab something to eat after that.”

The thought of another new dress buoyed her spirits, but she felt guilty about spending money on it. She tried halfheartedly to talk Ed out of the errand.

“Do you really think I need something different to wear?”

“For certain. The better impression you make, the more members we’re likely to get, and the more members, the more people we bring closer to God.”

“Mother Teresa never wore new dresses, and she did all right,” she said.

“She didn’t have to. She always dressed in a habit. Trust me, angel, this is necessary. Just count it as part of our expenses.”

‘Well, if you really think so…“ Her voice trailed off as she remembered all the attention she had attracted in her first dress. And how pretty it was.

Ed ruled out the first two she selected. They were too cheap and too common. He wanted her to look like a goddess, not just an extremely attractive woman. Suddenly he spotted just what he wanted, a gold colored creation lamed with silver threads and tiny silver buttons on the bodice. “Here, try this one on,” he said, hoping it came in her size.

It did, or almost. It hugged her body like a gilded priestess and made her look like one, too. Violet stared at her image in the mirror as if it were the first time she had ever seen her reflection. She thought Ed must have a direct line to God in order to be able to pick out such enchanting clothes for her. Why didn’t the Salvation Army allow women to dress attractively?

“It’s perfect,” the saleslady said. “A little tight, perhaps, but you have the figure for it. I think it would look even better if you left one or two of the top buttons undone.”

Violet looked at Ed for approval. The neckline was already cut rather low.

“Go ahead,” he said.

She undid the buttons.

“Perfect,” he said. The vacant buttonholes lent an air of casualness to her appearance, as if she were too busy and unconcerned to bother with them. He pulled out his wallet.

“Snip off the tags,” he told the saleslady. “She’ll wear it from here.”

A sudden thought occurred to Violet after they were back in the Bronco, heading for the loop. “You must have lots of experience picking out clothes for women. Or looking at them, anyway.”

“Not that much,” he evaded. “It’s just you that inspires me, angel. If the Salvation Army let its women dress like this, and if they looked like you, they wouldn’t have to ask for donations. Every man in the country would be camping on their doorsteps.”

“Don’t, Ed. You’re embarrassing me.” Nevertheless, she was pleased. And the dress was so comfortable that it felt like part of her own skin. She wished momentarily that she could afford more of them, then chastised herself for being selfish when so many other people were in need. She wondered how many they would be able to care for once expenses were taken care of. They certainly seemed to be mounting up.

The Interfaith Chapel parking lot was overflowing with newsmen, cameramen, policemen, gawkers, truant teenagers attracted to the confusing mass of humanity, and here and there a poor bewildered soul who had come simply to pray or meditate. Cars, trucks and vans were parked wherever they found space. Ed saw the crowd, and his eyes widened. What was he getting into? This thing was taking off like it had been picked up by a tornado!

He parked the Bronco on the edge of the crowd, and gripped Violet’s hand when they got out. “Hold on tight, angel. This is going to be rough.”

It was. It took a phalanx of policemen who had been called when the crowd began to gather to get them through the boiling mass of humanity and up onto the steps of the Chapel. He ignored shouted questions and imprecations as they bobbed and weaved through the press of bodies. Violet followed his lead. She was out of her depth and depended on him for direction.

Ed swept the crowd with quick glances as he waved his hands for quiet. He finally spotted Al and Ruthie hanging on the fringes. Al waved, then gave a thumbs-up gesture and patted Ruthie on the rear. She began working her way through the crowd. He touched his briefcase with his foot to make sure it was handy, then began.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. Thank you for coming. Never in our wildest dreams did we expect such an overwhelming response to the formation of God’s Fan Club. We hope and pray that God will consider Miss Smith and myself worthy representatives.

“She has already begun the work she was called to perform. If she appears to be tired, or not looking well—” Someone in the crowd whistled, generating a burst of laughter. Violet looked better hung over and short of sleep than most women did at their wedding ceremony.

“—it’s because she was up late last night and again early this morning, answering God’s fan mail. She has been praying almost constantly—” He got a guilty glance from Violet with that statement.

“—and God has responded. We will be releasing copies of her inspired replies shortly—”

Most of the crowd cheered and clapped, drowning out his next few words. The media representatives and a few doubters sat on their hands.

“—identities must, of course, remain confidential. A newsletter will be published shortly, which will contain a sampling of letters to God, and His replies as He gives them to Miss Smith.”

Some of the disbelievers again overrode him, shouting of blasphemy. Ed didn’t mind. Controversy would only generate more interest and garner more new members. And more money.

“—must remember that, like Jesus’ disciples, Miss Smith and I have been called—called to perform this great task. I will take a few questions now, then Miss Smith will carry on from there.” Before pointing to the first raised hand, he scanned the throng again, and spotted Ruthie more than halfway to the steps where they were standing.

“Mr. Tanner, could you tell us how much mail you have received so far?”

“We counted over three hundred letters to God yesterday. I expect to find many more in the mail today. I think that shows how many people want to reach out to God.” He didn’t mention all the others which had been addressed to Violet, nor how much money they had taken in the first day.

“You say that you’ve been called. Why should we believe you?” a cynic asked.

“Would you disbelieve your own clergyman or woman? Each of them has received a call to serve the Lord, just as we have.”

“When will you release Miss Smith’s answers to God’s mail?”

He saw that Ruthie had worked her way to the front ranks. “I think now would be a good time, don’t you? I’m sorry to say that you will have to share. We have no funds yet for a copier.” He reached down for his briefcase, which he had purposely left unlatched. As he lifted it, the contents spilled to the ground, except for the sheaf of his own letters, which he clutched in his hand. The reporters surged forward, each trying to get their hands on the letters. He backed away, appearing to be distraught. When he felt Ruthie’s body next to him, he slipped her the bundle. She took it and hurried away with it hidden beneath her jacket.

Violet really was distraught. She was unused to such disruptive behavior. As soon as Ruthie had faded into the crowd, he clasped her in his arms, protecting her from the milling reporters. Flashbulbs popped around them. He patted her back. “Just take a couple of questions, then I’ll call this off,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t mention anything about the money sent to you.”

She didn’t understand, but complied trustingly. She let Ed turn her around to face the crowd. It quieted down as he held his hands up.

“Miss Smith, where did you buy that dress?” a female television reporter asked.

“Mr. Tanner bought it for me this morning at Neiman-Marcus,” she said honestly.

“It looks awfully expensive.”

“I only own one other dress,” she said. “Would you have me send it back?”

“Yeah!” a wag called.

“Take it off,” another yelled.

“Please,” she said. “Don’t do this to me.” A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. She looked at Ed for guidance. He winked reassuringly at her. She was doing exactly the right thing without even realizing it.

“Miss Smith, Mr. Tanner said you had received over three hundred letters to God. How many of them contained membership dues?”

She wiped at the tear. “I didn’t count, but I think most of them did.”

“What are you going to do with all that money?”

Ed held his breath.

“Mr. Tanner said that after expenses, we could help people. And we intend to donate as much as we can to the Salvation Army.”

Ed thought that was a good stopping point. She had performed almost perfectly. Even her plea at the mention of her new dress had gone over well, drawing more sympathy than approbation.

“We need to get back to work,” Ed said. “Thank you for coming.”

The reporters didn’t want to leave it at that. The conference had been too short, too uninformative, but that was just what Ed had intended: a brief appearance, then leave them and the public hungry for more. As a protective circle of police escorted them back to their car, he began trying to multiply figures in his head. How many members would it take to bring in a million dollars? Or two million? How many tee shirts and figurines could he sell in a couple of months, and how much could he get away with charging?

Chapter Fourteen

If this keeps on, we may have to hire bodyguards for you,” Ed remarked as they drove back toward the apartment.

“Oh, I hope not. I didn’t realize there would be such an uproar about a simple thing like a fan club,” Violet said.

“It’s not just a fan club, angel. It’s God’s fan club.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? Could we get something to eat, Ed? I’m so hungry.”

“Me, too. Tell you what, angel, let’s grab a burger now, then I’ll take you out to eat tonight. How does that sound?”

“We haven’t finished all our mail yet. Do you think we can spare the time? It doesn’t seem right, wasting an hour or two in a restaurant while God’s fan mail is waiting.”

“If we don’t eat, we won’t be able to keep working. Don’t worry. As soon as I can find an office, we’ll place an ad for a secretary to help us with the work.” He reached over and patted her thigh, letting his hand linger there. His touch dispelled thoughts of wasting time. Instead, she began wondering what to wear.

They ate the hamburgers on the way home. The meal made him sleepy, but now was no time to rest. He still had a number of chores mapped out for the day. He stopped at a grocery store for staples, not forgetting to pick up some heavy duty plastic bags; if yesterday was any indication, he thought they would need them, and it turned out that they did. The post office box was overflowing again, with even more mail than the previous day. He took the time to ask one of the clerks for a couple of large mailbags. She promised to have them ready the next day after he paid a deposit.

Violet gasped as he came back out with a bag of mail over each shoulder. “Oh, no. How can we possibly handle all that today?”

“Relax, angel. Even God took seven days to get everything done. We’ll just do what we can until we get some help.”

Violet helped him carry the bags inside, then he sent her to bed for a nap; he knew she must have still been feeling the aftereffects of the bad cheese, as he had put it. She didn’t protest too much. She was feeling drained from all the activity of the last few days, not even considering the night before.

Ed got his second wind, as he usually did when a scam was going good. He called the Chronicle and renewed the ad for God’s Fan Club, then gathered up all the checks and part of the money that had come in the previous day. He ran off a total on the calculator, then left Violet a note and headed for the bank. Before he got half a block away, he remembered that they would need a tax number. He made a U-turn and went back to call Al Depo.

Al was euphoric. “Ed, I don’t believe this shit! If we don’t both make enough money off this caper to retire, I’ll eat my hat.”

“You don’t own a hat.”

“Ruthie’s panties, then. Speaking of Ruthie, she delivered the goods.”

“Who to?”

“The Chronicle and Channel two. Pick up a late edition and watch the news tonight. This ought to be good.”

“I will if I have time. Right now, I need that tax number.” He copied it down as Al read it off.

“It’s provisional, remember. It still has to be approved,” Al said.

“I’ll tell God to make sure it is. Say, is there a vacant office in your building we can rent?”

“How big?”

“I’ll need a reception area, an office for a secretary and an office for myself. Make sure mine is big enough for a couch and has a private bathroom.”

“What will Miss Smith have to say about that?”

“Judging by the new batch of mail I just picked up, she’s going to be too busy to say much of anything.”

“Is she really as innocent as she acts?” Al asked.

“She really is. I almost hate to have her involved in this thing.”

“Don’t get sentimental.”

“I won’t. Catch you later, Al. I’ve got to get to the bank before it closes.”

“Okay. I’ll go see about that office right now. You want some help finding a secretary?”

“If you know of someone, it would save me some time having to do interviews. I’m telling you Al, this thing is growing faster than bunny rabbits at Easter.”

“I could loan you Ruthie, if that sounds okay.”

“You could? That would be great! With her in the office, we wouldn’t have to worry about doctoring the accounts.”

“Oh, we’ll have to doctor them some, but Ruthie knows how to go about it. She’s had lots of practice.”

“So she has. Are you sure you can spare her?”

“No problem. I’ll get some temporary help to answer the phone and run my office until you’re ready to make your getaway.”

“Thanks, Al. See you.” Ed ran for the Bronco. If he hurried, he would just have time to make it to the bank.

He sneaked inside right before the doors closed, and sat down at the new accounts desk. A dark-haired woman wearing a blue power suit came over and seated herself opposite him. She looked irritated at having to take care of a last minute customer, and even more annoyed when she learned that he was opening a business account. There were more forms to fill out for them than for a personal checking account.

Ed didn’t let that bother him. In the space listed for the name of the business, he printed boldly: God’s Fan Club. He gave the apartment number as a temporary address, then on second thought, left it as the permanent one. Offices were where the feds headed first in an investigation, and he wanted to have access to their money at a moment’s notice, just in case. He really didn’t think the feds would bother them, though; so far, they had done nothing wrong, or at least nothing illegal, but that might change.

The bank executive evidently spent her time on things other than the news. She had never heard of God’s Fan Club. After beginning to check the first form, she looked up at Ed in disbelief.

“Mr. Tanner, this is a bank, not a, a—religious organization.”

“I never thought otherwise, or I wouldn’t have come here,” he said.

“Well, you can just leave. A bank is no place for levity.”

“Ma’am, if you are an example, I can believe that. However, I still want to open an account.”

“I’m sorry, that won’t be possible. Now—” She pushed her chair away from the desk, preparing to dismiss him.

Ed scribbled on a scratch pad and handed it to her. “This is our attorney’s number. You might want to call him, and also check the news this evening before you tell me what’s possible or not.”

She stared at the piece of paper. “Let me talk to the vice-president. Excuse me.”

The vice-president, a young balding man wearing a light black suit must have been paying more attention to the news than his subordinate. He recognized Ed immediately. He held out his hand.

“Mr. Tanner? David Pressor. Pleased to meet you. I saw you on the news the other day. What can we do for you?”

“I intended to open an account with you, but this young lady here tells me that I can’t.”

The lady, who was far from young, glared at him. “Wait until you see the name he wants to use, Mr. Pressor.”

Pressor examined the form Ed had filled out. “Yes, God’s Fan Club. A unique concept, Mr. Tanner, and tax-exempt, I see. That’s no problem so long as we have a tax number.”

Ed wrote it out for him.

“Fine, fine,” he said. “Ms. Dykes, please take care of Mr. Tanner. I might be wanting to join his club myself one of these days.” He chuckled obligingly and walked away.

Ms. Dykes grudgingly helped him with the rest of the paperwork. She didn’t smile at all. He wondered how close her name came to describing her orientation, but stopped short of asking. When they were finished, she took the checks and money, exchanged it for a book of temporary blank checks, and escorted him to the door. She unlocked it and held it open. As he walked away, he heard her mutter under her breath, “God’s Fan Club. What a load of—” The lock clicking shut behind him cut off the rest of the sentence, but he could well complete it in his mind. He knew that before long he would have to deal with that type of person on a daily basis. Hopefully, he would have a good stake put together before then. And this time, he intended to keep it.

Ed yawned, wishing that he hadn’t told Violet that he would take her out tonight, but then the thought of how much she would probably enjoy it renewed his enthusiasm.

Driving the old Bronco back home, he yawned again. What he needed was a drink, something stronger than wine this time. He stopped at the liquor store and bought a liter of Haig & Haig and some more Lancer’s for Violet. As he was leaving, A Chronicle delivery truck drove up with the evening edition of the paper. He waited until the rack had been filled and dropped some quarters into it. This time, God’s Fan Club was front page news. He folded the paper and drove away without reading it. Time enough for that later.

Violet was still in bed when he got back to the apartment. Before doing anything else, he filled a glass with ice and poured a generous dollop of scotch over it. Then he called Al to see if he had gotten the office. He had, but it had taken four month’s rent to gain immediate occupancy. Depo had advanced the money against his share of the booty. That was taken care of, and with Ruthie serving as their secretary, he wouldn’t have to worry about W-2 forms, social security and questions about benefits. Better and better. This operation was designed to benefit him, not the help. He had just hung up the phone when Violet came out. Her hair was still damp from a shower. She was wearing the stonewashed jeans again, with a red long-sleeved blouse.

“Hi, angel. Have a nice nap?”

She stretched and inhaled luxuriously, threatening the blouse with a capacity it hadn’t been designed for. “That and a shower, too. I feel fine, now. Did you get all your business taken care of?”

“Just about.”

“What’s that you’re drinking?” Violet asked.

He held up his nearly empty glass and examined it. “I was so tired that I needed something stronger than the Lancer’s.”

“What is it?” she asked curiously.

“Haig & Haig,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“Is that like wine?”

“Sort of,” he temporized, then to divert her attention, he unfolded the newspaper. “Look here. We made the headlines this time.”

“Oh, wonderful! May I see?”

“Let me get you something to drink and we’ll look at it together,” he said. He took out the corkscrew and began twisting it into the cork of another bottle.

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” Violet said. She still wasn’t entirely comfortable drinking alcoholic beverages, but the fact that Ed didn’t seem to think it mattered much had begun to influence her opinion.

“Look at that stack of mail, and then tell me whether you shouldn’t.”

Violet let herself be convinced, seeing again how much of it there was. She hoped he had found someone to help sort and organize it.

Ed handed her the glass and unfolded the newspaper. She pulled a chair close beside him, and they began to read.

Chapter Fifteen

GOD’S FAN CLUB AN INSTANT HIT

In a follow-up to the story featured in last Sunday’s religion section of the Houston Chronicle, Edward Tanner revealed today that his advertisement in this newspaper for God’s Fan Club which he says he and his associate, Violet Smith, have been called by God to form, has already garnered more than three hundred responses.

At a news conference held at The Interfaith Chapel on Loop 610, Tanner stated that Miss Smith, the alleged conduit through which God corresponds with members, has already begun answering mail. He also said that Smith has been working and praying practically nonstop in order to provide timely responses to the letters. When Tanner offered a sampling of answers to the fan mail Miss Smith had completed, he was mobbed by reporters. In the ensuing mêlée, Smith was shaken up and was able to answer only a few questions.

The sample of letters given to the press by Tanner proved rather innocuous. However, the Chronicle has come into possession of other letters from God’s Fan Club that provide a much different perspective.

A sampling of these are reprinted here:

Dear God,

With the way congress is acting, I am having trouble running my district. Can You help me?

Senator Malloy

Dear Senator,

Of course I can, but first you must join My fan Club. I suggest a lifetime membership. What with the lawsuits from all those little bimbos, congress is the least of your troubles.

God

Ed had debated over making that one up but he figured that with all the trouble the senator was already in, no one would believe his denials anyway. Besides, the facts were true.

Dear God,

Since I retired from tennis, I’m having trouble finding beauty contest winners to make love to. What can I do?

Maria

Dear Maria,

Be satisfied. You are no beauty yourself. Thanks for joining My fan club.

God

Dear God,

I have lung cancer. Please tell me what happens after you die.

Old Smoker

Dear Old Smoker,

As I have never died, I’m afraid I can’t be of much help to you. Good luck anyway.

God

P.S. I invented tobacco, but I never told anyone to smoke it, so don’t blame me for your troubles.

Dear God,

Since being elected premier of Russia, I find the country is broke, our money isn’t worth anything, and the politicians are all controlled by gangsters. My fee for membership in Your Fan club is enclosed. Please help me.

Premier Zhukhovsy

Dear Premier,

Thank you for joining My fan club. However, I must request the dues be paid in dollars instead of rubles. I hope you understand.

God

The article continued with a few more letters and ended with speculation concerning the ultimate purpose and direction of God’s Fan Club.

Violet finished reading and looked up at Ed. Her gaze was troubled. “Ed, I know you prayed before responding to these letters, but are you sure this is how God wanted them to be answered? The replies seem to be—well, rather humorous instead of helpful.”

Ed appeared to reflect gravely before he answered. “I always wondered whether God had a sense of humor. Apparently, He does. Believe me, I prayed over those answers.”

“Still … won’t this sort of turn people off to the club?”

“Maybe it will some people, but on the whole, I think it will result in a much greater membership. Perhaps that’s what God has in mind.” That was certainly what Ed had in mind. For this kind of scam to work, there had to be lots of publicity, and he could think of no better way than with a leavening of direct, humorous answers from God. However, he had been very careful in the fictitious queries, never giving full names, but simply letting the signatures suggest who they were from. He didn’t want any libel suits to complicate matters. The only exception was the Zhukhovsy letter; he figured that after complaining about gangsters, the premier wouldn’t last long enough to file a lawsuit, anyway.

“Perhaps,” Violet answered, “but it seems a roundabout way to do things.”

“God’s ways are mysterious. Are you ready to go eat?”

Violet stared at the stack of mail, but her appetite, and more, a chance to see what it was like to dine at a real restaurant, overcame the onus of letting the mail wait. “Yes, but let’s get back early. We have a lot of work to do.”

Ed drove them in the old Bronco to the nearby loop, then south on I-45 toward Galveston, where seafood houses became increasingly abundant. He picked Fredrico’s, a likely looking place he had seen mentioned in the paper as a good place to eat. He gave the Bronco to a valet, drawing a question from Violet. “Where are they going with our car?”

He remembered how naïve she was of the world outside the girl’s academy and the Salvation Army mission. “That’s a valet. He’ll park it for us and bring it around when we’re finished. All the better restaurants have that service.”

“Oh,” she said. She had never heard of valets. It suddenly occurred to her that they were going to be dining in a fancier place than McDonald’s or Mom’s Restaurant. “Do you think I’m dressed well enough?” It was a question she had never had to consider before.

“Relax, angel. You look great.” In fact, he was hoping that she would not be recognized in her casual clothes. He had discarded his tie and was wearing a simple blazer and slacks.

It was early enough yet that they didn’t have to wait, nor worry about reservations. After they were seated, he ordered a liter of the house Chablis and lobster dinners for each of them, overriding Violet’s objections that she wasn’t used to such fare.

When the lobsters were placed on the table, she stared incomprehensibly at hers, not knowing how to begin. Ed understood; he had gone through a similar experience back when he had made his first really big stake as a Boilerroom operator, selling overpriced vacation packages to out of the way places in the Caribbean. He began with his own lobster, going slow so that Violet could watch and copy his actions. She cracked a claw and dipped the morsel in drawn butter as he had done and dubiously brought it to her mouth. After the first taste, she no longer worried about her appearance or table manners, but simply enjoyed the meal, thinking to herself that it was the best thing she had ever tasted in her life. The Chablis was good and cold, and she nearly matched him glass for glass as they ate.

The only thing that disturbed the tranquility of the meal happened just as they were finishing up a dessert of New York cheesecake with Philadelphia cream cheese topping, the best dessert she had ever eaten. She was wondering if she could possibly get the last bite inside her, but it was so delicious she hated to leave it on her plate.

While she was deciding whether to take the bite, a well-dressed older man with silver hair and a thin mustache passed their table, hesitated, then came back.

“Say, aren’t you those folks from God’s fan club?” he asked.

“Yes we are,” Ed had to acknowledge.

“I thought you were. Miss Smith, I wonder if I might have your autograph? Valerie, my niece, was telling me she was going to write you. She would be thrilled.”

Violet looked at Ed for direction. She had never anticipated being asked for an autograph, even after the last press conference. He nodded, thinking it was something they would have to get used to, or she would, anyway. She was the symbol of the club, God’s own true representative.

Violet thought for a moment, then wrote:

To Valerie.

God answers all prayers.

Sincerely,

Violet Smith.

“Thanks,” the man said. “Valerie will love this. Good luck with your fan club.”

“It’s God’s fan club, not mine,” Violet said, getting the first inkling that the public might be more interested in her than her purported relationship with the Deity. The thought was vaguely disturbing, but the Chablis had mellowed her to a degree that it soon passed from her mind.

Ed eyed the old Bronco with distaste as the valet brought it around. He tipped the young man generously, thinking that before long they would be able to afford to lease something a little more comfortable, like a Lincoln or Cadillac. He never bought cars. In his business it was better to simply lease them on a monthly basis, just in case a quick trip to another state became necessary.

On the way back to their apartment, more plans unfolded in his mind while he listened to Violet’s enthusiastic compliments about the meal. Now was the time to expand into areas other than Houston, with newspaper ads in major cities. He would have to notify Al, so that he could talk lawyerese to reluctant classified departments. And magazines. Probably there would only be time for single ads there before the scam folded, but they should be able to get at least those in at least one issue. Faxing them would be quicker. Something else to buy, and a better computer to get on-line. A World Wide Web page. Getting a newsletter designed and distributed, with copies to the press. Oh this was wonderful, and not a thing illegal, so far. He mused more on that subject. When they did close down, if there were questions or lawsuits from members who had paid dues for a year and were disappointed, he could simply say that God had instructed them to cease operations. Who could argue? And, he doubted there would be many suits, if any at all, over a mere twenty bucks.

Violet was his main concern. She was going to be hurt, and hurt badly, when he skipped with the money. Well, that’s what happened when a person allowed the dictates of religion to run their lives. He was glad he didn’t believe in all that nonsense. Nevertheless, he worried. She was such a sweet kid. And so beautiful. And he was scared he was falling in love with her.

Chapter Sixteen

Violet insisted on getting started with the mail after they got back. Ed wasn’t that enthusiastic. He was tired and sleepy, but some more scotch revived him. They began sorting the mail into categories as they had the previous evening, sitting on the floor with piles of mail scattered in heaps around them. He was busy with his part of the job when he noticed that Violet had stopped what she was doing. He looked up and saw her staring at a letter as if it contained a pact with the devil. Her face was colored a brilliant red, almost as dark as her blouse.

“What’s wrong, angel?” he asked.

“This—this l-letter. I don’t believe it.”

“Let me see,” he said.

She gave it to him, reluctantly, eyes averted as if she were ashamed of some unforgiven sin.

Ed read the letter:

Dear Violet,

I saw your picture in the paper. You are beautiful. I want to—

It was a mish mash of all the most common perversions common to the sick individuals prone to writing such stuff to celebrities.

It was signed, presumably by the real admirer, with a phone number and address listed. He was amused but he tried not to let it show. He should have expected something like this. He answered carefully, “Well, I can agree with the gentleman’s appreciation of your looks, angel. However, he seems a little too forward for you to accept a blind date with him. Tell him so in your answer.”

“You mean you actually want me to answer this pervert?”

He saw the twenty-dollar bill attached to the envelope. “Well, he did send in his dues.” Then, seeing her look of consternation, he said, seriously, “This is something you’re going to have to get used to, angel. You’re a public figure, now.”

“Do all public figures get letters like this one?”

“Any of them who look anywhere near as good as you, do. Don’t worry about it. Most of those nuts are harmless.” He hoped they were, anyway.

“Well, if you say so, but it will certainly take a lot of praying over my answer—God’s answer, rather.”

“Of course. Well, let’s get back to work.” They resumed sorting. Ed’s back finally began hurting from sitting on the floor. He got up and poured more scotch, and filled Violet’s glass again. They got back to work. It was she who finally called it quits.

“It’s no use. We’ll never finish this tonight, and my eyes are getting too blurry to read anymore.”

“I agree,” he said. “Let’s have one more little drink, then call it a night. I’ve got another busy day ahead of me.” He sat down on the couch and patted a cushion for Violet to join him.

“What are you going to be doing tomorrow,” she asked, sitting down beside him, holding her wineglass expertly now.

He lit a cigarette, thinking that she no longer objected to the smoke, as she had when she first met him. He didn’t know that in her mind, the tobacco fragrance on his breath, mixed with a faint aroma of alcohol, had formed a pleasant association with the good night kisses. It no longer bothered her.

“More errands to run, things to buy, and most importantly, I have to check with Ruthie on how we want to handle all the mail.”

“Who’s Ruthie?”

“Al’s secretary. Didn’t I tell you that he’s going to loan her to us for a while?”

“No, or if you did, I forgot. That is generous of him.”

“It sure is. Anyway, I’ll probably be in and out for most of the rest of the week getting the office running and taking care of other things.”

“I miss you when you’re gone.”

“I miss you, too,” he said, truthfully. “It’s late. Let’s get to bed.”

Violet automatically turned her face up for a kiss. Ed put his arm around her and drew her to him. The kiss went on and on. Violet’s lips parted. She curled an arm around his neck and allowed his tongue to enter her mouth. The sensation was electric. She felt a yearning desire that was completely new to her. She felt his hand travel to her breasts and almost cried out as he began gently caressing them. A warm surge enveloped the rest of her body, traveling downward, making her want to get closer to him. Abruptly, she came to her senses. She jerked her body away from him, breathing heavily.

“Ed, no—we shouldn’t—” She wasn’t sure exactly what they shouldn’t be doing, but she knew it was a long way removed from any business of God’s Fan Club.

“Sorry, angel. I got carried away.” He put a thumb and forefinger under her chin and tilted it up. “Forgive me?”

“It was my fault.”

“No, it was mine, but I can’t say I’m sorry. You’re one in a million, angel.” He pecked her on the lips. Despite herself, she felt a new wave of helplessness sweep over her. She jumped up. “Good night, Ed.”

“ ‘Night, angel.” He watched her walk to her bedroom and close the door. Damn, what am I doing? he thought. I need to keep her focused on religion. But, goddamn, how can I keep living with her and not want to take her to bed with me? There was an upside, though. If he got into a sexual involvement with her, supposing she overcame enough of her religious beliefs to permit it, that would commit her to him and probably serve just as well as a method to keep her involved with the club until the break. The only thing was, that would just wind up hurting her more if it came to pass. Maybe he should try hitting on Lori again, just to relieve the sexual tension. He considered it, but somehow the idea had little appeal. Lori wasn’t Violet, by several orders of magnitude. He undressed and got into bed, but sleep was a long time coming, even as tired as he was.

In the other room, Violet was just as wide eyed. Every time she was on the verge of dozing off, she remembered the deeply satisfying kiss and the touch of Ed’s hands on her breasts. Just the remembrance made them ache with a strange, sweet pleasure. She couldn’t quite understand how she had come to allow him such liberties, and was bothered by the notion that if he did it again, she would probably like it just as much. A sudden idea finally let her get to sleep: Perhaps this was God’s way of letting her know that she and Ed were soul mates, meant for each other. It was a pleasant thought, and dispelled her worry. She slipped into a restful slumber with it in her mind.

Ed was up early again the next morning, composing some more fictitious letters to God. The last of them were still printing out when Violet emerged from her bedroom, dressed again in shorts and a loose top. Since Ed had said that he would be gone most of the time during the day, she had dispensed with the bra, remembering how pleasant it had felt not to be encumbered with it, and it was not as if she needed support. Her young breasts were as firm and upright as a sculptor’s dream model. The comparison subdued the faint sense of guilt at not being fully dressed in the presence of a man.

Ed heard the door open and hastily gathered up his printouts and stuffed them into his waiting briefcase.

“Good morning, Ed. Have you already finished your prayers and answers?”

“Morning, angel. Just done. I’ll be heading to the office as soon as we eat.”

“You work so hard that I can’t keep up with you.”

“You’re doing great. Get the letters done that we covered last night, and I’ll post them when I pick up the mail this afternoon.”

Violet smiled at him and began preparing a light breakfast. After he left, she began conscientiously handling the letters one by one, praying, then scribbling out her answer. It was a long time before she noticed much diminution of the stack. Being God’s representative was a much harder job than she had thought it would be.

Ed drove by the bank first. He deposited the checks and cash they had managed to sort out the night before, then made arrangements for a bank bag for night deposits. The way it was going, he didn’t want to have all that cash in the apartment overnight. After that, he drove downtown to the tall black building where Al Depo maintained his offices.

Al was just getting settled in for the morning. He was wearing his usual casual suit and snappy tie, its dark silk color going well with his curly brown hair. “Morning, Ed. How’s it going?”

“Better than I ever hoped. I think we’re ready to go national, now. Do you have any ideas, other than news and magazine ads?” Al could always be counted on for suggestions, though this was the first time he had ever involved himself directly in Ed’s business, other than submitting grossly inflated bills for attorney’s fees, then laundering the money in preparation for Ed’s kickback.

Al grinned, like a boy let loose in an ice cream shop. “We’re already national. CNN picked up the story. They started broadcasting it this morning.”

“I’d better get busy, then,” Ed said. “Where’s Ruthie?”

“She’s downstairs in the office, getting set up. Come on, I’ll show it to you.” Skipping the elevator, he led Ed down one flight of stairs, into the hall and around the corner. There was already a listing on the door:

OFFICES

GOD’S FAN CLUB

Ruthie had her back turned to them, checking out the fax machine that had just been installed. He wondered how Al had managed to get a number so quickly, but supposed he had connections in those matters. “Hi, Ruthie. Leave that machine alone for a moment and let’s have a conference.”

The three of them gathered around the desk, and he went over the plans he had formulated. “First, I need to get our original ad placed in as many big circulation newspapers as will accept it, and the same with the big magazines, so long as the ad can come out within a maximum of two months.” He pulled a duplicate of the ad from his briefcase, and let Ruthie and Al examine it.

“No problem. With CNN giving us free publicity, most of them will take it. It’s going to cost, though.”

“We’ll get it back, don’t worry. This thing is snowballing like a Colorado avalanche. Next, we need to figure out a system of sorting the letters into various categories so Violet can pray over them in bunches rather than individually.”

“Does she really pray over those silly letters?” Ruthie asked, unbelievably.

“Of course she does. She’s been called, remember.” He grinned. “The thing is, there’s already too many of them for her to handle. What I want to do is, each day, take the mail home and sort out the money, then drop it back here for categorizing. I’ll pick up representative samplings each day for Violet, then bring it back here. You can design some form letters with room to change the wording around a bit so they don’t all read the same, then post them from here.”

“How about your girlfriend? Will she go along with answering God’s mail on an assembly line basis?”

“Sure, once I explain how that’s the way God wants it. Believe me, she is a total innocent. Sweet, and innocent.” A dreamy look came over his face. Al spotted it.

“Be careful, Ed. Those innocents have been known to make believers out of the worst of us.”

“Don’t worry, I can handle her.”

“I hope so. By the way, the PI didn’t turn up anything on your apartment manager. Are you going to have any problems with her?”

“I hope not, but if I do, I’ll think of something.”

Al had one more question. “Why sort the money at home? Why not bring it here?”

“For one thing, it will keep Violet busy. For another, I suspect you’re going to have to hire some temporary help for Ruthie before long, and I don’t want it getting out about how much we’re taking in. Don’t worry, she’s as honest as a preacher. Barring televangelists, of course.”

Al laughed at the comparison. “Okay, sounds like we’re all set up. The only other thing we need is a computer.”

“That’s where I’m going now. I’ll see if I can get a bargain on two of them, and we can get the one here networked with the new one at home. That way I can send some more of my letters for you to leak without Violet catching on that I’m the one both writing and answering them.”

Al guffawed. “I liked the one from the senator. You’re a card.”

“A wild card.” Ed grinned as he left.

He stopped by Circuit City shortly thereafter and bought matching computers, paying for them with a check. He wanted to begin siphoning off a lot of the cash before long so that Al could begin the laundering without it going through the account of God’s Fan Club. After that, he stopped at the post office. The volume of mail was about the same as the day before, but he expected it to pick up again within a day or two, as soon as more people had time to join the club after hearing about it at the last press conference and from the latest ads. And once the national ads began running, he hoped he would have to hire a truck to bring it all home.

Chapter Seventeen

Lori Anderson had been trying for two days without success to get the press interested in her tryst with Ed. Unfortunately for her, the media had been besieged with spurious claims from other publicity seekers, both men and women, claiming past relationships with either Violet or Ed. She was studiously ignored. She sat in her office at the apartment complex and seethed. It wasn’t fair. Here she had a real story, and no one would believe her! Then she remembered the mention of the Salvation Army. She picked up the phone book and began dialing numbers of the various missions and offices listed. After some difficulty, she finally tracked down the one where the godly Miss Smith had worked, and asked for the director. She was told that he was unavailable at the moment.

“May I leave a message?”

“Certainly.” The operator seemed harassed and anxious to get off the line. Lori thought they were probably being overwhelmed with calls wanting information on Violet Smith.

“Well, tell him that I have some news about Mr. Tanner and Miss Smith of God’s Fan Club that he might be interested in.”

“I’ll give him the message, and I’m sure he will return your call as soon as he can.”

Lori had to be satisfied with that. She hoped that when the director, whoever he or she was, heard that Ed Tanner had been in her bed after the formation of the fan club, and that sweet little Miss Smith was running around in a bikini not much larger than a couple of handkerchiefs, he would investigate. If so, then the public revelations, with her as the revealer, might propel her into the spotlight. Modeling and movie careers have been started on less, she thought.

Violet was still hard at work when Ed returned. She hurried to help him as he kicked the door aside and carried in the first component of new computer, still boxed up.

“A band new toy for us to play with,” he said, sitting it down on the dinette. “There’s more in the car.”

Violet went back out with him to the Bronco. She was appalled at the load. There were two more boxes of computer components, and two new sacks of mail. She assisted him in getting everything inside, then stared at the two new post office sacks, stuffed to the brim.

“Oh Ed, how are we going to handle all this? It will take us a whole day to set up the computer and transfer files, and look at that! More mail, and I haven’t even finished yesterday’s yet. What are we going to do?”

“Relax, angel. I’ve got things already pretty well arranged. Let’s get this stuff uncrated first.” He was glad she had shown no apprehension about setting up a new computer, but he already knew she had had some experience with them.

“All right. I won’t mind this part of it. Deacon Wilshire taught me to handle computers at the mission. I did a lot of the office work there.”

“Great. We’ll get it set up this evening, then tomorrow we’ll get it networked with the one at the office. Do you know how?”

“I think so. Anyway, if they have the instructions right in the help files, I can do it.”

“Good. I’ll probably be gone most of tomorrow, too, and we need to get this up and working.” He hoped she wasn’t too computer literate. He didn’t want her looking into a lot of the files Ruthie and he would be setting up.

Since the computer came with pre-installed programs, they spent more time getting the components uncrated and hooked together than was needed to check it out. They each took turns running through the word processing program, sitting side by side so that each could see what the other was doing. Violet made them sandwiches to go with the wine she was drinking and the scotch he had poured for himself. During the day, she had read the label on the bottle and wondered what it might taste like. She worried a bit, too, that he seemed to be drinking quite a lot of it. She had seen so many men at the mission with alcohol problems that she had previously thought that anyone taking a drink was letting the devil into their life. It didn’t seem to affect his performance, though, and if it came to that, she was drinking herself. It’s only wine, she thought, and it does relax me, just like he says. And we’re certainly not abusing it, like those poor men at the mission are prone to do. She stopped worrying.

After they both had enough of the computer, Ed led her to the couch. She sat down next to him, but leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, trying to think of a good way to broach the idea she had thought of the night before.

“Trouble, angel?”

She turned to face him. “Ed, I like it when you call me angel. I just hope you’re not thinking of it literally. You’re not, are you?”

“Not really, but sometimes I have my doubts. You look like an angel, and you act like an angel.”

“Ed … about last night, I…” She couldn’t go on.

Ed sympathized. He had never known anyone like her; in fact had not even thought a woman of her age still so innocent even existed. He felt a renewed tug of attraction toward her, and wondered again what to do about it. To be or not to be, he thought inanely. Maybe I should let her take the lead.

“Go on,” he suggested.

Violet took a big gulp of her wine. “I was just wondering, maybe … God is bringing us together?” She held her breath waiting on him to answer.

“God has already brought us together,” he said. It was becoming easier and easier for him to talk glibly about God. A good thing, he thought, since that’s what this whole scam is based on. He went on, knowing what she had meant. “Are you thinking in physical terms, rather than spiritual, perhaps?”

“I—oh, I don’t know. I’m not very experienced with men. In fact, I’m not experienced at all.”

“Well, let’s see if we can’t remedy that, shall we?” He plucked the glass from her hand and set his own drink down on the coffee table. He reached, and she came into his arms. I shouldn’t do this, he thought, then did it anyway.

This time her lips parted at once, inviting rather than waiting. Again she felt the sweet liquid surge of pleasure engulf her as she felt his hands move over her breasts. It was even more disconcerting this time, with only the thin sheath of her top between his hands and her breasts. She felt them move under his caresses, and her nipples hardened and tingled each time he brushed them with his palms. Again, a warm wave of desire seemed to sweep down her body, and this time his hand followed, running over the curve of her hip and to her bare thighs. She tensed as his hand began moving back upward. It took all of her will power to reach down and grasp his hand. She broke the kiss.

“No, I can’t, I just can’t. It isn’t right to do this without being married.”

Married? My God, Ed thought. Is that what she has in mind? He could think of worse fates than being married to her, though he hadn’t even considered the idea before, with her or any other woman. It wouldn’t do, though. Even if he were disposed in that direction, it would soon get out, and for the fan club to flourish, Violet had to retain the image she had begun with, a pure, vestal virgin, interested only in doing God’s work.

“Is that what you want, angel? To be married?” he asked gently.

She buried her head against his shoulder. “I don’t know. I think so. I’ve never felt like this before.”

It had to be said. “Angel, if it were up to me, there would be no problem. There’s God’s Fan Club to think about, though. I hate to say it, but the public has an image of you now that doesn’t include being married, to me or anyone else.”

“Why should that matter?”

“It’s just the way the public thinks. The people writing to God know you’re the intermediary. I call you ‘angel’; many of them probably think you are one.” Ed had a hard time carrying the explanation further. He had an instinctive feel for the way public gullibility, religious or otherwise, worked, but it was hard to put into words.

“Maybe we should just give up the fan club. Right now I don’t feel very holy.”

“Oh, no, we can’t do that!” he exclaimed. God, no, not with the money beginning to roll in, and even more almost certainly in the pipeline. This could turn into the biggest trick he had ever turned, but Violet was still the key. She was beginning to waver, though. He could see that already. Probably he had pushed a little too hard getting her used to the real world, but damn it, there was no other way to go about it. He couldn’t change his lifestyle, nor did he want to, and in order to keep it up, he had been gradually introducing her to some of the finer things of life, like good clothes and drink and food. It was necessary, since he had to live with her and keep her interested in the fan club, yet in order to run the scam, he had to keep her confidence. He hadn’t intended for her to fall in love with him, but now it seemed that she had, and if the situation was allowed to fester, everything might fall apart before he was ready to abscond with the money Al was squirreling away. It was a quandary, one of his own making. Now he had to find a solution.

“I know we can’t give up the fan club, Ed. You have a call, and I guess I do, too. It seems so unfair, though. Besides, how can we go on like this? I won’t be able to concentrate for thinking of you.”

This had to be stopped, and he could see only one way to do it. The problem would be getting her to go along with it. And salving his conscience if she did.

“Angel, I know you believe in the sacrament of marriage. I do, too. That’s why I’ve never married; I’ve never been certain enough of any woman to be sure she was the one God intended for me. The only thing I can think of, is to…” He hesitated and closed his eyes, as if he might be praying.

“Is to do what?” She stared at him with an eager alertness.

He opened his eyes. “…is to maybe get married in spirit, and make it official later, after our calls are completed. This won’t last forever, you know.”

“It won’t?” she said, a guilty little voice inside telling her she shouldn’t feel so relieved. “Somehow I had assumed this was going to be our life’s work.”

“I don’t think so. There might be a call to do something else, but I feel in my heart that God’s Fan Club will have a limited run, then close down with all the good work completed.”

Suddenly what he had said before struck her. “What did you mean, married in spirit?”

“Well, we could say private vows to each other. I’m sure God would be listening, since He is already with us on a daily basis.”

Something about the idea didn’t seem quite right, but the call of her body made the question of what constituted a marriage seem not quite so important as the theologians made it out to be. After all, Catholics recognized only catholic marriages. Other religions had different interpretations of what vows should be said. It was certainly something to consider.

She hesitated. “I don’t know. I should call Deacon Wilshire and ask him about it.”

“He would say no. I don’t think he likes me much.”

“He just doesn’t understand how good you are, Ed,” she said, dismissing the opinion of her year-long mentor in favor of the man beside her she had known for such a short time.

“Be that as it may, he would say no. Until we get enough money past our initial expenses to begin contributing to his work, I don’t think he will feel favorable toward me.”

“Well, I do.” She leaned back into the comfort of his encircling arm. His hand inadvertently came to rest on her breast. Amazed at her own daring, she put her hand over his and pressed it to her. Private vows, without a minister or papers. It was so far from what she thought her eventual marriage would be like that she had trouble imagining it. The pressure of his hand on her breast made it seem like a good idea, though.

Ed suddenly thought of how he was going to have to convince her the next day that she would have to begin praying over the mail by categories rather than individually. He thought that would sound rather far removed to her from personal answers, supposedly given by God to each supplicant. He drew her to him for another kiss. She responded willingly. A few minutes later, she said weakly, breathlessly, “What kind of vows do you think we should say?”

“Whatever you like, angel, but why don’t we keep it simple?”

“How simple?”

“Like this: In the sight of God, I take you, Violet Smith, to be my beloved wife and to have and to hold, forevermore.” He almost choked over the last word, but managed to get it out.

Violet thought it was simply emotion at the eternalness of the vow that enriched his voice with caring. She took a deep breath, and said, “I take you, Ed Tanner, to be my beloved husband and to have and to hold … forevermore.”

Ed kissed her again and led her to his bedroom, hating himself, but hating the thought of losing all that money even more.

Chapter Eighteen

Ed was amazed, elated, and pleased beyond all comprehension at the way their wedding night went. He was used to women jaded with sex, who treated the encounter as not much more than scratching an itch. He had never imagined the joys of introducing a woman who truly loved him to the joys and intricate ecstasies of sexual union, nor had he ever been with a woman who gave herself with such innocent abandon. He forgot all about money, for that night, anyway

Violet didn’t regret bypassing the normal route of marriage, not after the first hour. As cloistered as she had been all her life, she had little to unlearn. She discovered that her body and its interaction with the man she loved must indeed be a gift from God if it could make her rise to such ecstatic heights of pleasure that she lost all meaning of self in the wondrous merging of body and mind. When she was coherent, she helped her lover explore her body while she discovered the delights of his, until again she would sail away on clouds of joy so intense it was almost akin to pain. Oh, if it could only last forever and ever just like it was, with no respite for food or drink or thoughts of anything else except the overpowering, sensual, excruciatingly intense explosions of rapture inside her. It couldn’t, of course. Almost disappointed, she found that the body and mind could stand only so much, and surprising to her, that the male could stand even less before collapsing. When she finally fell asleep cuddled in his arms, she thought she was the happiest and luckiest woman on earth.

Ed woke the next morning, languid, yet feeling as satisfied as he ever had in his life. Even more satisfied than after the most successful scams he had ever run. He gazed at Violet’s sleeping body, the sheet draped over her hips but leaving her breasts exposed, her pink nipples still half-erect. Her golden hair was splayed over the pillow like a gentle medusa’s locks, and her face was serene in sleep, like a princess in an enchanted castle. He could hardly bear the thought that he would almost certainly lose her in the near future, but there was nothing he could do about that. Even if he were to tell her of the scam now, he thought she would leave him in disgust, and she most certainly would once it was over. How could she stay with him after learning of his machinations, cheating the religiously gullible of their money? He decided that all he could do was enjoy the experience while it lasted, and hope she would recover. On second thought, he hoped he would recover, too.

Violet yawned and opened her eyes. She stretched luxuriously and saw Ed looking down at her. He bent and kissed her. She tried to hold him, but he broke away.

“As unromantic as it sounds, I have to go to the bathroom,” he said. He glanced at the bedside clock. “My gosh, it’s after ten, already! I have to get up and get going!”

“Can’t we take a day off?” Violet asked, reluctant to let him out of her sight.

“You can relax, but there are things I have to do today. I’ll come back early, though, and we’ll go out somewhere to celebrate.”

“I’d rather celebrate here.”

“We can do that, too.”

“Good. As long as you have to get up, I suppose I should, too. I still have some letters to go over.” She pushed the sheet away, then became aware that she was completely naked. She blushed despite the excesses of the night before, and tried to pull the sheet up over her.

Ed pushed it back down. “Don’t. I love looking at you. You’re even more beautiful naked than I imagined.”

“I still feel embarrassed.”

He thought that she certainly hadn’t acted like it last night, but then he remembered she had had quite a bit of wine while they were working. “Don’t be. Women’s bodies are made to be admired, and you have the most beautiful one I have ever seen.” It was no canard. She was almost perfect in all respects, the proportions of her body fitted with each other like lovingly handcrafted parts of a fine machine. He felt an erection beginning, painful against the pressure of a full bladder. He gave her a quick kiss and headed for the bathroom.

When he came back out, showered and shaved, she was gone. Back to the other bedroom, he thought. He dressed in a dark blue casual suit with a gray-striped tie and went out into the living room. The pile of mail still awaited, but most of the money had already been separated. He heard the shower running in Violet’s bedroom. While she was bathing, he finished detaching the proceeds from the rest of the mail and totaled it up for deposit, holding a few hundred in cash back for everyday expenditures. He was gathering the stacks of envelopes and stuffing them back into the postal bag when Violet emerged. Her hair was still damp from the shower, but otherwise she looked as fresh and bright as the first daisy of spring. He looked closer and thought he detected a faint blush of lipstick. He hoped that it was a sign that she would eventually learn to live a normal life and give up all this God business.

“What are you doing, Ed? We’re not finished with that mail yet,” she said, seeing him repackaging the letters.

“You shouldn’t question your husband,” he said, grinning. “But come give me a kiss and help me get the rest of it back in the bags, and I’ll tell you.”

She hugged him eagerly. She was dressed in jeans and a white tee shirt. He felt the liquid shifting of her breasts pressing against his chest as he held her. When he released her, he saw the imprint of her erect nipples making little tents on the shirt. God, what a woman.

“Now, tell me what’s going on,” she said.

Ed sat down with her and put a serious tone in his voice. “Well, it’s like this. As you said yesterday, you didn’t know how you could possibly handle so much mail, and you’re right. You can’t. I had already decided that myself, so here’s what we’re going to do: I’ll bring it home each day, and we’ll separate the mail with funds from the others for deposit, then I’ll take the whole bundle to Ruthie. She will go over the letters and separate them into categories according to the type of questions asked or whether they are from dues payers and oh, several other divisions. She will type them up into lists for you, and I’ll bring the lists, not the letters themselves, back home. You can pray for a sort of generic answer to the common questions, and she will use the computer to print out answers according to what you say, then mail them from there.”

She frowned, and he added quickly, “Don’t worry, I’ll still bring the difficult ones back here so we, or you rather, can decide which ones you want to answer and what sort of response to give. Just like before, I’ll take care of the ones you don’t feel comfortable with.” He smiled. “Like the lesbian tennis player, for instance.”

She had to laugh. “Serves her right, telling her she wasn’t such a beauty herself. Oh, I shouldn’t say that, should I? I know that must have been the proper answer since you did it, but it was still funny.”

“Like I said, God must have a sense of humor. Does this all sound okay to you?”

“I suppose, if that’s the only way to handle the volume. It seems rather impersonal, though, as if we’re asking God to work on an assembly line.”

“As long as we feel comfortable with it, I’m sure He is letting us know He’s satisfied, too. See how it goes, then let me know what you think.”

She smiled agreeably. “If you think it’s okay, I’m sure it is. Are you leaving now?”

“I have to. If you get finished with what’s left here, why don’t you go for a swim until I get back?”

“Maybe I will. Hurry home.”

“I will. Watch out for reporters.” He kissed her, then left hurriedly before she distracted him more than he already was. He drove to the bank, made another deposit, then headed uptown again, glad that he had overslept so that he didn’t have to fight the morning traffic.

Ruthie was waiting for him in the new office, practicing on the computer. “Hi,” she said when he came in. “You look like you missed some sleep last night.”

“It was worth it.”

“I’ll bet. Is this the mail?”

“This is it. Let’s get started; I want to get back home.”

Ruthie looked at him knowingly, remembering Al’s admonition the previous day. He dumped the bags, and they began sorting. He stayed with her long enough for her to get the idea, which didn’t take all that long. She was an efficient secretary.

After making sure that she could proceed alone, he got the code from her so they could network their computers. He gave her his personal password, and told her, “I’ll be writing more of that fiction whenever I get a chance to do it without being discovered. Check the file every day when you come in. Al will tell you where and when to leak it.”

“Sounds good. Al is going to have a temp here by tomorrow to help out.”

“Be careful,” he warned. “Let her do the scut work, and you take care of the things we don’t want anyone to know about.”

“Don’t tell your grandma how to steal sheep, Ed. I’ve been in the business about as long as you.”

“So you have.” He winked. “I’ll be checking in every day with the mail, but I’m going to try to work from home as much as possible. Ciao.”

“Remember the golden goose,” Ruthie said as he left. Ed wasn’t thinking of the golden goose. He was thinking of the golden apparition waiting for him back home.

Violet did take a dip in the pool while she was waiting on Ed to return. The skimpy bikini no longer seemed quite so scandalous, nor seemed to leave her feeling so unclothed after a night of being stared at while naked by an appreciative man. She noticed Lori as she walked by the pool on some errand, but gave her no thought. She wasn’t worried about her in the least anymore.

Ed found only one of the large postal sacks of mail waiting at the post office this time. Just as he had expected, the mail from Houston was beginning to taper off. Just as well, he thought. Next week, we’ll be inundated, with mail and money both. He decided that he would give Violet a dribble for the Salvation Army, just to keep her happy, but the majority of it he intended to funnel to Al, after allowing a portion for a few personal amenities he had in mind. Like a new car, and some more clothes for Violet, especially underwear. White, waist high panties and plain bras didn’t appeal to him, and a few dainty negligées would go nice on her too, not that one had been needed last night. It would be nice to see her in some provocative night things, though. She certainly had the body for them.

He arrived just as she was climbing out of the pool, intending to go in and shower. He whistled. She turned around, startled, then smiled beatifically at his appearance. She ran and curled her arms around his neck and kissed him thoroughly. All day, she had been thinking of how wonderful the previous night had been, and was eagerly anticipating a repetition.

“Hi, angel,” he said, when he was able to come up for breath. “Run up and take a shower and get dressed. Let’s go out for something to eat before we start on the mail.”

She remembered the delicious meal they had had the previous evening and felt herself salivating. “What should I wear?”

“Try one of your new dresses.” He felt in his pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. “And wear these. They will help keep you from being recognized.”

She accepted the glasses and hurried inside to dress while he brought in the mail and poured two fingers of Haig and Haig over a glass of ice. He chugged it down, and it revived his flagging energies. Sleeping late that morning would have helped had he not been so late getting to sleep in the first place. Well, things were rolling now; maybe he could relax a little.

This time he drove in the opposite direction, back toward town, then pulled off the loop onto Highway 59, the Northtex freeway. While they were sorting mail at the office, he had asked Ruthie where another good place to eat was, and she had recommended a steak house between Houston and Humble, not far north. He ordered medium rare prime rib and hothouse grown new potatoes in cream sauce, and added something new, to Violet’s unsophisticated repertoire, anyway.

The waiter came and presented the bottle for his inspection. Ed nodded, then tasted and signaled his approval. The waiter poured then discretely withdrew.

“What’s that? It has bubbles in it. Is it soda?”

“It’s what we should have had last night to celebrate. Champagne. It’s only Mums, but not bad.”

She sipped cautiously, then took a bigger sip and abruptly sneezed.

He laughed. “Don’t let the bubbles get up your nose, or you’ll do it every time.”

She sipped again. “It tastes better than Lancer’s. Sort of lighter and fresher.” She sipped again. “It’s good.”

“It should be, for what they’re charging us.”

Violet enjoyed the meal as much if not more than the previous one. At least I know how to cut beef, she thought, though she had never tasted meat so delicious and tender. She didn’t think to ask herself why they were spending God’s money on such expensive food and drink. At the moment, anything Ed did or thought was beyond reproach.

He asked for another bottle to take with them after the meal, tipping the waiter generously for the little peccadillo. Violet didn’t question why he had to slip some extra money to the waiter in order to carry a bottle out with them. She had no conception of the arbitrary rules and regulations concerning the sale of alcoholic beverages, and he didn’t try to explain.

Back home, they killed the other bottle while separating cash, checks and money orders from the mail.

“Can we donate some of this to the mission now?” Violet asked.

“Next week for certain. Maybe even sooner, but right now we have a lot of office expenses. Are you about ready for bed?”

She didn’t have to be asked twice. The night turned out to be a glorious repetition of the previous one.

Chapter Nineteen

Ed forced himself to sneak out of bed before Violet woke up in order to get some more letters written. It was easier this time, though. He simply put them all in one file, fictitious letters and answers together, and prepared to send them to Ruthie, trusting her to sort them into separate questions and responses so that they would appear to be actual mail to and from God’s Fan Club. The humor from the last ones had generated so much publicity he tried to do even better this time. After he was finished, he quickly scrolled through them to check for errors:

Dear God,

I think you are neat and I am so glad that You have started a fan club. I am thirteen years old and when I grow up, I want to be just like You. Enclosed is my money for a God tee shirt and twenty dollars for my membership dues. Keep up the good work.

Your Faithful Fan,
Wanna Beliku

Dear Wanna,

I am glad that you think I am neat, but I’m afraid that it’s not possible for you to grow up to be like Me. There is only room for one God in the universe and I already have the position filled. Thanks for joining My fan club. I will send the tee shirt just as soon as the design is finished. My representative is having a hard time finding an artist who really knows what I look like. I will keep up the good work as you requested, except on Tuesdays, which I take off (the Bible scholars got it wrong but never mind).

Love,
God

Dear God,

Enclosed is twenty dollars to join Your fan club. I like everything You do, except that sometimes You don’t answer my prayers. Why is that?

Love,
Michael V. Smith

Dear Mike,

Thank you for attempting to join My fan club, but I am sorry to inform you that your check is going to bounce. As for your prayers, please take care of this matter and I will see what I can do.

Regretfully,
God

Dear God,

I have never joined a fan club before but I just had to Join Yours. I would like to ask you a question: Why do you let people do bad things? Aren’t You all powerful?

Love,
Chastity Goodpasture

Dear Chastity,

In answer to your question, of course I am all powerful, but I let people do bad things sometimes in order to let them get acquainted with my chief competitor, and so that I don’t get bored with this everlasting life. I note that you didn’t mention the bad things you have been doing with that vibrator. Was that an oversight?

Omnipotently,
God

Dear God,

I think Your fan club is great, but I wonder how you ever convinced Mr. Tanner to get it started? I would have been scared of the responsibility, considering Your reputation.

Love,
A scared believer

Dear Scared,

Yes My fan club is great, isn’t it? How could it be otherwise? I picked Mr. Tanner to run it because he has lots of experience with the public, and doesn’t hold me in so much awe like many people do.

That counts for a lot. I can’t have someone running My fan club who is too worshipful; otherwise I might as well do it myself.

Sincerely,
God

Ed was having such a great time rereading his fictitious questions and answers that he almost didn’t hear Violet open the bedroom door. He did a quick save while shielding the monitor from her eyesight with his body, wishing he had had time for a few more inventive letters. Too bad, but these ought to get the ball rolling again. He kissed Violet while stroking the keyboard to send the letters on their way to Ruthie.

“You’re always up so early, Ed, dear. You’re going to collapse if you keep working so hard.” She nuzzled his cheek and kissed him on the neck.

“Don’t worry, angel. Just being with you gives me strength. I feel ten years younger than I did two days ago.”

“I can’t say I feel younger, but I do feel so much older and wiser now. Why do so many preachers make out like sex is something dirty or sinful?” An inquisitive, perplexed expression appeared on her face.

“I think St. Paul was the culprit,” he said, remembering his childhood Bible lessons and some critiques he had read later in life. “I think he was a latent homosexual,” he added before thinking.

“St. Paul? Surely not!”

Whoops. “Well, maybe he was misinterpreted by later scholars. Remember, almost everything in the Bible has been through several translations, and even at that, the real story of Christianity didn’t begin to be written down for a century or so after the crucifixion.” This was more data picked up somewhere along the line. When he wasn’t holding, libraries were one of the places he sought out for cheap entertainment.

“Really? They never told me that in Bible class.”

“The preachers would rather that most people not know about it so they won’t have doubts.”

“You don’t doubt God, do you Ed?”

“Oh, never. Else why would I be here? Let’s talk about something else, like what an angel you are.”

“Please don’t. If I’m an angel, I feel more like a fallen one, now. What are we doing today?”

“After I take the mail to the office, we’re going shopping.”

“What for this time?”

“Some more things for you to wear, and I need a few more clothes myself. That evil woman I was with before not only took all my money; she ran off with most of my clothes.” That was more or less true. He always traveled light, buying and abandoning clothes and other articles as the need arose. He had left a fairly good wardrobe back in Vegas just to avoid having to carry it around with him, knowing that sooner or later he would raise a stake and be able to buy new clothes.

“I’d like to pull her hair out.”

“I’ve already forgiven and forgotten her. It’s best not to dwell on the past.”

“You’re such a good person. I don’t know if I would be able to feel that way, myself. Not so soon afterward, anyway.”

“If that hadn’t happened, we might not have met. Think of that.”

She did, and questioned him no further.

He took her shopping that afternoon after stopping by the bank, post office and dropping the mail off to Ruthie. While Violet was happily trying on new garments, he bought some under things for her and had them wrapped, having surreptitiously checked the sizes of her old lingerie. Next, he picked out a few new suits and some leisurewear for himself. They had dinner on the way back home at an unpretentious restaurant near the apartments, then spent the rest of the day separating money from mail, a task he didn’t mind, but it suddenly occurred to him that he could go to the post office first, bring the mail back and have Violet do it while he ran his other errands. She wouldn’t mind, and it would give them more spare time to spend together.

When they were ready for bed, he watched her undress. When she was naked, he said, “Don’t get into bed yet. I have some presents for you.” He had concealed the new undergarments and nightwear among his own purchases. Now he presented the packages and watched for her reaction as she opened them, while remaining as prettily naked as a woods nymph on a summer eve.

“What’s this? Oh, Ed. I couldn’t wear anything like these.” She held up a set of pink satin bra and hip-hugging panties.

“Why on earth not? You’ll look delicious in them. Come on, try them on.”

Facing away from him in embarrassment, she complied, wondering why he wanted her to wear the kind of undergarments she had always thought of as fit only for loose women. Then she saw herself in the full-length bedroom mirror attached to the closet door. The change in her appearance from when she wore her usual lingerie was like the difference between a photograph and old scratched negative. She stared at the image of an incredibly sexy, sensuous woman. She never thought simple under things could make such a difference in looks. It was like the contrast between a plain pet dog and a show collie with its coat brushed to a high, glossy sheen. She couldn’t speak for staring at herself.

“See the difference?” he asked, amused and gratified by her reaction.

She laughed nervously. “Yes, I can see. It makes me feel sinful, but I can see why you would want me to wear them. Darling, you’re changing my whole outlook on life. I don’t know whether I like it or not.”

“Try on one of the negligées,” he suggested. She did, less reluctantly this time. It was a simple short-sleeved confection, reaching to the middle of her thighs, with dainty buttons down the middle. Again, the contrast of her appearance in the new garment and her old nightgown was a revelation. Ed came up behind her and put his arms around her. He fondled her breasts through the thin silk material, raising goose bumps over her body at the electric touch of his hands smoothing the material over her breasts.

“That’s enough for tonight,” he said. “Come to bed. I want to try those buttons.”

She made another new discovery. Having the negligée slowly removed by his gentle hands and then making love was more of a thrill than simply coming to bed naked would have been. Again, she thought of how lucky she was that she had found him, then abandoned any other contemplation to the surging desire of her body.

Over the next several days, they began to settle into a routine. He went for the mail, brought it back, then headed to the office with the previous day’s load and to the bank with the deposit. He held a couple of conferences with Al to coordinate their activities. Al had released the last batch of fictitious mail, and it most of it had gotten printed. The CNN spot had kept interest in the fan club at a high level. He hadn’t been able to write any more letters, though. Exhaustion had finally caught up with him; that, plus the fact that most mornings he was so enamored with Violet that he stayed in bed with her until she awoke, rather than getting on up.

Then the national mail, responses from all the other newspaper ads, began arriving in awesome quantities. He found that he had to spend more time at the office helping Ruthie. While he was there one day, Deacon Wilshire paid a visit to their apartment. He had finally answered Lori’s summons.

Chapter Twenty

Deacon Wilshire left Lori’s office with flame in his eyes and despair in his heart. He was feeling the conflicting emotions of intensely disliking the changes in Violet’s behavior, and feeling sorry for her at the same time. He was sure now that Tanner was leading her down that sinful primrose path, yet he felt sorry for her for being taken in so easily. She had been so sweet and naïve, and now look at her: enthralled by a devil masquerading as a saint. The series of spurious letters (and he was sure they were spurious) he had read in the newspaper enraged him. If not blasphemy, it was as close to it as he ever wanted to come.

Violet was already suffering from a load of guilt. That morning, she had gotten up from another night of love, and befuddled by the aftereffects, had sent Ruthie’s typed list of categorized questions from members of God’s Fan Club back with Ed to the office without praying over them first. How could she have forgotten such a thing? She had suddenly remembered while she was sunbathing after a swim, wanting to relax a bit before attending to the morning mail and had gotten up and rushed back to the apartment, wondering how to rectify her error. She was so agitated that she poured herself a glass of wine before changing out of her bathing suit. When the doorbell rang, she opened the door before remembering how she was dressed. Worse, she was holding a glass of wine in her hand, and there was Deacon Wilshire, staring at her almost naked body as if it should be turned into a pillar of salt.

Her whole body flamed with embarrassment as Wilshire pushed past her into the apartment without bothering to ask for an invitation. Once inside, he turned and thundered, “Cover yourself, you brazen hussy. Have you no shame? And what’s that you’re drinking?” He spotted the wine bottle, which she hadn’t yet put away. “The devil’s potion, I’ll wager! What in the Lord’s name has come over you?”

“It’s just wine,” Violet said in a small little voice, barely audible. She looked down at herself, and the red color spread over her face and shoulders anew. “I’m sorry, I just came in from the pool. I’ll go change.” She rushed to the bedroom, her whole body beginning to tremble. She changed into jeans and shirt and remembered to put on a bra. While she was getting dressed, some of her courage returned. After all, she had been doing nothing wrong, not according to Ed. A woman’s body was made to look at, just as he had reminded her by quoting from the Song of Solomon. And wine was only a sin if it were abused. She only used it to help her relax. She wished she had some with her now, then remembered she had brought the almost full glass into the bedroom with her. She located it and gulped it down. She gave it a moment to begin taking effect, then squared her shoulders and went back out to face the deacon.

“That’s better,” Wilshire said. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Violet. How could you possibly have degenerated so far as to display yourself in that scandalous suit?”

“The … the Song of Solomon. It describes women as—”

“Never mind what it says. Displays such as the one you were providing incite undisciplined lust in men.”

“There weren’t any men there,” she said, as if that excused it.

“I was there,” Wilshire said.

“Were you incited?” Violet asked, taking the initiative.

Wilshire blushed almost as much as she had. His bald forehead turned the color of a ripe, red plum. “Never mind that, either. I came to talk to you about this blasphemous fan club. You must stop it.”

“I can’t. Ed and I have been called to do it.”

“It’s a scam.”

“Oh, no, you don’t understand, Deacon Wilshire. We’re going to donate all the money; that is, every thing over expenses, to charity. That includes the Salvation Army.”

“Yes, so you’ve said. And how much have you donated so far?”

Violet started to avert her eyes, then her innate courage asserted itself, the same inner strength which had made her decide to marry a man without official sanction or papers. “None yet, but we will very soon. It has just taken so much money to get the club started.”

“Including new clothes for you, and that devil’s drink there. Those are expenses?”

“I had to have some clothes. I couldn’t very well wear my old uniforms, could I?”

Wilshire couldn’t think of a good answer to that. He got into the main subject. “Violet, you must break your association with this man. I read some of that alleged fan mail. I don’t believe for a moment that it came from real people. Even if it did, there is no way God would answer it in such a facetious manner.”

“How do you know?”

“God doesn’t work like that. I can’t believe He inspired those answers from you.”

“Oh, most of them weren’t mine. The paper didn’t print hardly any of the samples of the ones I answered. Those were from Ed. Or from God through Ed, that is.”

“I don’t believe what I’m hearing.”

“It’s true. He prays for correct answers to letters every night, just like I do.” She suddenly remembered the ones she had forgotten to pray over that morning, and that brought on another discomforting thought. Had she ever actually seen Ed pray? She tried to remember. Well, not really, but he told her that he did, so surely he must.

Wilshire shook his head. He wasn’t getting anywhere with her. “Violet, I had hoped to spare you this, but now I must tell you in order to dispel your belief in this scalawag. I have it on good authority, from an unimpeachable source, that this man you are cohabiting with has engaged in fornication.”

Violet didn’t like to think of it, but she answered, “Perhaps, but if he has, it was in the past, and God has surely forgiven him by now.” She hoped God was forgiving her if she was sinning. What she and Ed had been doing was uncomfortably close to the Biblical definition of fornication.

“It wasn’t that far in the past. In fact, it occurred just recently, with the manager of these very apartments. Now what do you have to say?”

Violet was struck dumb. Surely, surely Ed had not been consorting with that woman; not after their sacred vows.

“I see I have finally made an impression on you. Now, will you leave this blasphemy and return to the fold? God will forgive you. You can even return to the mission and continue with your old job.”

Violet wavered, but only for a moment. First came the thought of her previous job at the mission, dealing with dirty, bearded men smelling of urine and cheap wine. And the drab uniforms and unappetizing food. The constant praying, which never seemed to diminish the nightly supply of vagrants nor induce many of them to change their habits. If she went back, she couldn’t wear her new clothes, or her new undergarments. No more relaxing swims in the heated pool. And worst of all, no more wonderful nights with Ed, filled with love and sex and whispered endearments. The choice wasn’t hard to make, especially since she didn’t believe the story of Ed and Lori. Even if it was true, she thought, it couldn’t still be going on. Where would he find the time?

“I’m sorry, Deacon Wilshire, but we’re going to continue our work until it’s finished. I promise, we’ll begin donating some money to you soon.”

He stood silently, looking like a refugee from a bad film in his faded uniform and wispy remnants of white hair. “So be it. You’ll be hearing from me.” He turned and left without another word, leaving Violet by herself, as forlorn and as uncertain of what to do next as an abandoned kitten. She walked over to the cabinet, and without thinking much about it, poured herself another glass of wine. She took it to the dinette where the morning’s unsorted mail still lay in heaps. She began opening letters and separating cash and checks. An idea formed and her face brightened as if lit by the first rays of the morning sun. She stared at the money. Surely they could spare some for the needy by now. Wouldn’t the deacon be surprised if she suddenly sent him thousands of dollars?

Ed won’t mind, she thought. I won’t even have to tell him yet. And after all, he said there would be lots and lots more coming in. I’ll just hold out some each day and save it up for a week or two, then take it to the deacon. That ought to allay any suspicion he has of Ed’s intentions. She began setting aside every third piece of cash. When she was finished, she was astounded at the stack of bills. She took it into her old bedroom and stuffed it into a shoebox in the back of the closet, convincing herself in the meantime that Ed would be pleased and happy when she gave away the money, fulfilling the public promises they had made.

When Ed returned that afternoon, she held her breath as he made out a deposit slip for the side trip to the bank they would take later in the evening as they went out to eat. He accepted the totals she had run on the calculator without question and stuffed the money and checks into the night deposit bag. “Another good take,” he smiled. “And it really helps with you adding it all up and having it ready when I come home. It gives us more time together without having to worry about business.” He leaned over and kissed her. Though Violet hadn’t thought of it at the time, there was little chance of the missing cash being discovered. She added it up each day now, and he took her word for the total without question, especially since it was growing each day in almost logarithmic progression. And since the deposit results came to him rather than to the office, Ruthie or Al would have no way of discovering that the accounts of membership dues and cash didn’t jibe. If Violet had been as dishonest as Ed was, it would been a perfect way of skimming off cash for herself, but her thoughts no more ran in that direction than a nun’s did of marrying the Pope.

As always, his kiss gave her a thrill, but this time, she couldn’t help wondering if he had kissed Lori like that. She decided to wait until they were in bed before confronting him with the deacon’s accusation.

Violet was becoming sophisticated with the formalities of eating out by now, and she enjoyed it tremendously. She tried different dishes while Ed plied her with champagne and wine each evening while they dined. She tried to dress simply so as not to attract attention, but autograph seekers were becoming an increasing problem. If the press had had more file pictures of her other than the ones in her academy uniform and salvation army dress, or the two of her in the extremely formal dresses she had worn to the conferences, she would have been recognized more often, but now she stuck mostly to informal attire when they went out. When Ed insisted occasionally that she really dress up, they went to places where the management protected celebrities from the curious. When she was asked for an autograph, she had learned to give it gracefully and humbly, always insisting that it was God, not she, who deserved all credit.

After they returned from their nightly foray, Ed asked for her approval of the proposed newsletter. He had a draft ready for her to inspect. He had worked hard on it that day, and if he could run it by her without too much of a protest, he intended for it to go out with all the mail to members of the fan club. He had designed it so that there was little chance of the press not picking it up and generating even more publicity.

It was a simple folded sheet that would cost little to produce. With the fold, it allowed for four printed pages. The first consisted of a simple statement of how the fan club was organized and mention of ultimate goals such as bringing members closer to God, followed by favorable quotes from the press. The second contained a heading entitled God’s Corner, with a message from God to the members, as if he were being quoted directly with no intervention from Violet. The third and part of the last page contained examples of Questions from members and answers that had been sent. He had composed most of these, knowing that Violet wouldn’t know the difference since she no longer read most of the mail. Again, he played it for wry humor in order to ameliorate the near-blasphemous comments. The final portion of the fourth page again proclaimed that he and Violet had been called by God to organize and run the fan club, and admonished members to pass it on to others so that they could learn how to join and share in the benefits. And, tucked in one corner on the page containing the letters was a small, blocked off advertisement for tee shirts with the emblem I BELONG GOD’S FAN CLUB emblazoned on the front. He had already franchised the purchase of those with a local shop, making sure that the contract called for weekly payment of royalties. He didn’t want to leave a lot of money being owed to them when the scam closed down.

“So, what so you think?” Ed asked after she had finished reading the newsletter. She wasn’t sure. The letters she could live with, after his explanation that the more outlandish they appeared, the more members the newsletter would bring in. The tee shirts were a good idea, she thought, and she couldn’t deny that they had been called to perform their tasks; otherwise the newsletter wouldn’t exist. God’s Corner was the kicker. She read that portion again. God was exhorting old members to recruit new ones. He urged members to purchase tee shirts. He reminded readers that if they wanted Him to answer questions, the must first join His fan club. He praised Violet Smith and Edward Tanner to the very heavens.

“How can you be so certain that this is what God wanted to say? It sounds almost like an advertisement.”

“I prayed before writing this. That’s how it came out, so who am I to presume on what God says? Anyway, even God has to advertise. Didn’t He have Jesus recruit disciples to spread His word?”

“They didn’t put out a newsletter, I’m sure.”

“Of course not. That was then, this is now. Times change, and methods change with them.”

“I guess you’re right. This fan club is certainly a new method of spreading the word.”

“That’s my girl.” He hugged and kissed her. “Come on, let’s go to bed. I’ve been thinking of you all day.”

Later, just as he was beginning to doze off, Violet spoke up. “Deacon Wilshire came by today.”

Ed’s eyes popped open. “What did he want?”

Violet seemed evasive. He tried to detect her expression, but the darkened room shadowed her face.

“He said he thought the letters the press have been printing were fake.”

“He can’t know something like that. They are as true as all the others.” That’s right, he thought. He didn’t believe for an instant that God, rather than himself, was directing the club’s operation. Looked at in that way, all the letters were fake, or at least the answers were.

“He saw me in my bikini. He said I was a brazen hussy.”

“A brazen angel, maybe. Never a hussy.”

“He saw me drinking wine. He said it was the devil’s potion.”

“God invented it; it couldn’t be all that bad.”

She thought of how much she was beginning to enjoy the fruits of the grape and had to agree. “He said you were a fraud, and that I should come back to the mission.”

“If I’m a fraud, then God is a fraud.” Both the superior and subordinate clauses are true, he thought.

“He said … he said…”

There was that evasiveness he had first noticed. He rolled over and took her in his arms. “What else did he say, angel? Tell me.”

“He said that you had been … fornicating with Lori Anderson.”

Ed decided immediately that confession was the better part of valor. “I have to tell you, angel, that part of what he said is true. But it was only once, and you were responsible.”

Violet sat bolt upright, staring at his darkened figure. “What! How could I have been responsible?” She forgot her jealousy in the throes of the accusation.

Ed said, “I was so attracted to you, right from the start, that it almost drove me crazy with wanting you. I didn’t think you would ever feel like that about me, and the sexual tension was so frustrating it was almost unbearable. One day right after we moved in, I was in the office going over our lease and Lori—well, she seduced me. I was so ashamed, and I didn’t think you would want to hear about it. I have to confess that I thought about it some more, but I just couldn’t do it again. By that time I realized I was in love with you, and no one else would do.” There. The perfect truth.

Violet lay back down. He reached and drew her to him. “Please angel, forgive me. I promise, before God, that so long as we’re together I’ll never want another woman but you.”

Again, the perfect truth, so far as it went.

She felt his hands stroking her, and belief in him enveloped her in a wave of trust, followed by greater wave of desire. She snuggled closer and met his descending lips. “Never leave me,” she whispered, pulling him over her.

“I won’t,” he answered. The truth once more, he thought. He wouldn’t leave her. She would leave him.

Chapter Twenty-One

Lori watched the news that night and saw no mention of her revelations. She watched as Wilshire went to Violet’s apartment and again as he left, but she wasn’t well versed in interpreting expressions. She had no idea whether he believed her or not, nor whether he would make her tryst with Tanner public. She decided to wait for a few days and see what developed.

The next morning, when she saw Violet come out for her morning swim, she got another idea. Perhaps Wilshire wasn’t speaking simply because he had no proof, other than their word, that the Holy priestess of God’s Fan Club was running around every day in a little red bikini that she would have died to look so good in. She would give him proof, if that’s what it took. She went to her apartment and got her video camera. Then, using the zoom lens in order to keep out of sight, she spent the time while Violet was at the pool filming her as she walked and waded in the shallows and lay in the winter sunlight of subtropical Houston. She started to mail the tape to Wilshire, but changed her mind. Something better might come up. No use burning her bridges just yet.

Violet spent several busy days. Fan mail continued to pour in, along with tons of money, or what seemed like tons to her. She continued to skim off cash and soon had several shoeboxes full. It she didn’t donate it soon, she thought, she was going to have to buy some new shoes, just to have a place to store the money. She was almost at the stage of bundling it all up and taking it to the mission to prove their good intentions, when Wilshire broke his news.

They were having a drink and watching the evening news. Violet was taking small sips of scotch from Ed’s drink. At first she thought it was too harsh for her, but she found that after a few sips she was enjoying the smooth smoky taste of the liquor. It settled into her vitals and spread a warm aura of contentment from there to the rest of her body, more powerful than the way wine or champagne affected her. She could see why Ed enjoyed it.

“Uh oh,” Ed said.

She hadn’t been paying much attention to the news. It had been several days since they or God’s Fan Club had been mentioned. The tone of his voice concentrated her attention immediately.

“And now for some just breaking news,” the anchor announced. She was a small petite woman dressed in an expensive blue blazer over a white blouse. “Today, in an exclusive interview with Deacon Elijah Wilshire of the Salvation Army mission where the notorious Violet Smith of God’s fan club spent the last year, he stated that not only does he believe that God’s Fan Club is a questionable enterprise devoted more to enhancing the pocketbooks of Edward Tanner than to anything else, but he also stated that Violet Smith, the self-proclaimed conduit through which God answers His mail has undergone a dramatic change in her lifestyle.

“He said that Miss Smith is not only living openly in sin with Tanner, but that she spends her days swimming in a heated pool, clad in what he terms ‘a disgraceful scrap of clothing which leaves her all but naked in plain view of the public.’

He further states that neither his mission nor any other he knows of has received a single dime in contributions from the fan club as both Tanner and Smith have promised publicly to do.”

The anchor paused, glanced down at her cheat sheet, and then looked back out at her audience with a practiced expression of concern on her face. “An independent investigation by this station has confirmed that no contributions have been made and Deacon Wilshire is apparently speaking the truth. As to the allegations of fraud—” she paused and smiled dramatically. “—no legal irregularities have come to light, though ethically, some questions arise which perhaps only God can answer.

“We have been unable to determine whether Wilshire’s statement concerning the dress, or perhaps undress while Miss Smith allegedly cavorts in the heated pool sported by the Amigo apartments where she and Mr. Tanner reside is true or not. We have received confirmation of one more item the deacon mentioned. He stated that Tanner has engaged in fornication, as he calls it, with the manager of those apartments, a Ms. Lori Anderson. In a phone call to her, she admitted the allegation and promised to provide some additional proof of Deacon Wilshire’s other allegations. An investigation by this station will continue and further developments will be reported as they occur. In other news…”

Ed zapped off the new television he had bought them a day or two before. “That old bastard,” he said heatedly. “He’s really got it in for us, hasn’t he?”

Violet started at the mild obscenity. Ed usually didn’t talk like that. “I guess he really feels strongly about the subject, doesn’t he?”

“That’s no excuse for unsupported allegations and insinuations. You know we have been planning on donating some money to his mission, but damned if I want to now. And that crack about you running around with hardly any clothes on. Hell, if I had a body like yours, I’d walk down Main Street during lunch hour naked as a jaybird.” He turned and grinned at her. “I apologize for my language, angel; I’m just upset. He had no call to say those things about you, especially after you’ve worked for him for a year for practically nothing, doing everything you possibly could for good of his mission. He should have mentioned that.”

“I think so, too,” Violet said. It did seem rather mean of him, now that she thought of it.

“Well, that settles one thing. You can’t go out in that bikini any more, not for a day or two. After that, though, we may be able to run you down Main Street.” He grinned enigmatically. “If fact, until I can set up a news conference to answer these charges, you had better not go out at all. This place will be swarming with reporters before the day is over.”

“That’s awful. I’ve been enjoying my time at the pool. Say, I wonder what that awful woman meant when they said she was going to give them some proof of some kind? You did tell me everything, didn’t you?” She looked at him anxiously.

“Angel, I told you everything about her that I know. We’ll just have to wait and see. I can’t imagine what else she could possibly come up with, though.”

“I can’t either. I’ve only talked to her that one time.”

“Well, we’ll worry about it when it happens. In the meantime, let’s go to bed.”

Violet was agreeable to that, as always.

Lori began receiving calls from television and newspaper sources soon after the program was aired, begging for disclosure of her proof, whatever it was. She enjoyed all the attention, laughing and talking with the inquiring reporters, but then she inadvertently let it slip that she had a video of Miss Smith in a bikini, taken only the day before.

Immediately, she began getting offers for the film. Her eyes widened, and she got serious. Her big chance had finally come. She let the offers increase in value, taking bids and writing them down for hours while Violet and Ed slept. She finally settled with The National Inquirer for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. A representative arrived within the hour, viewed the video on her VCR, and wrote out a check. The paper was due out the next day, and there was just enough time left to publish selected pictures from the tape. The next morning, Lori packed her bags, deposited the check and booked a flight to Hollywood. With that kind of money she could hire a publicist and be on her way to stardom.

Lori Anderson was not heard from again until several years later, when she made the news and finally did get her picture taken, though not quite in the manner she had so blithely assumed would happen. The photos weren’t very good, either. The Los Angeles police department wasn’t noted for making much of an effort to produce good mug shots, especially of hookers. They were a dime a dozen in Hollywood.

“Don’t go out while I’m gone, and don’t answer the phone or the doorbell,” Ed warned as he left the next morning to pick up the morning mail. He peeked through the blinds and spotted a swarm of media people on the grounds.

Violet had peeked through the drapes with him. “I won’t worry, but hurry back, please. I’m scared.”

“Don’t be. Everything will turn out fine, you’ll see.”

Ed was as pleasant as Bill Gates’ banker each time he was accosted by reporters as he went to and from the post office and back and forth to the office. Each time, he said, in a quiet confident voice, “We’ll have a statement for you this evening at seven o’clock. Please wait until then. No, I have no further comment. Please wait.” He was waiting himself, to see how reaction to the story went so that he could decide how to play it. He wasn’t worried that much. As the old saying went, any publicity is good publicity, and he had made plans some time ago of how to explain when Violet got caught in her bikini, as he had known she would eventually. His only real concern was whether Lori had given out her promised information, and what it might turn out to be if she had. He found that out coming home from his last trip, where he had assured Al that no harm had been done, and that in fact, he expected even more members to join the club after his news conference that evening.

He made his usual stop at the liquor store. While checking out, he stopped dead in his tracks. There, spread on the front page was a color picture of Violet in her red bikini, daintily dipping a toe into the water to test its temperature. She was leaning slightly forward, which emphasized the prominence of her barely contained breasts in the tiny top. Her golden hair hung freely, appearing slightly windblown. One long lovely leg was stretched out to touch the water and the other was half bent. The picture was in three quarters profile. He had to admit it was a beautiful shot, even in the reproduction. Now, not only would reporters be calling, but the Hollywood moguls would be out in force. Violet made their stable of starlets look like lower echelon extras. He kept the image of the photo in his mind on the way home, laughing inwardly.

He beat his way through shouted questions and shoving bodies waving copies of the Inquirer. With their extended microphones jutting into his face and threatening to blind him, Ed finally made it into his apartment, shutting the door in their faces as he shouted once more that they would appear at seven.

Violet fell into his arms as soon as he was inside, almost causing him to drop and break the package of bottles he was carrying. “Easy, easy, angel. Let me set this stuff down, then we’ll have a drink or two while we watch the news.”

“I’ll take the drink, but how can we watch anything with the phone ringing off the hook and people pounding on the door? It’s been going on all day.” She was reluctant to let him go. The whole day had been a horrendous, frightening experience.

Ed poured for them, diluting her scotch half and half with water. He took his neat, in a shot glass the first time, then poured a second over ice.

Ed had told her earlier in the day that she would probably have to face the media in the evening. She was already dressed in one of her new dresses, a pale white concoction dotted here and there with yellow roses, an almost universally recognized symbol depicting the yellow haired Texas girl of song. He thought the dress was perfect for this occasion. It had a demure neckline and a little matching jacket, which hung open, attracting the eye toward her bosom.

The evening news carried a follow-up to the previous day’s story on every channel. Duplicates of the Inquirer photo were pictured, along with the information that it had been provided by Lori Anderson, who was unaccountably unavailable for questioning. The anchors continually reminded their viewers that there would be a special report on the late news after the promised appearance of Smith and Tanner that evening.

While Violet consumed her second helping of Haig & Haig and Ed his third, he pulled the checkbook from his briefcase and filled one out, telling Violet what he intended to do with it.

She had to grin. How fitting! She began to relax until she glanced again at her photograph in the newspaper.

“How am I going to explain this?” she asked, tapping the photo with her finger.

“You don’t have to explain, angel. Just tell that them that it’s you, in the flesh, so to speak. When they ask if it is appropriate apparel for God’s representative, you just say this—” He leaned next to her and whispered in her ear. She relaxed some more. They had one more drink and watched the hands on the wall clock move around until they reached seven.

“Time, angel. Let’s go get ‘em,” Ed said. He helped her to her feet and they walked hand in hand to the door.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Upon realization that they apparently no longer had a manager in residence, the apartment owners called in the cops to deal with the rowdy, unsupervised media people swarming the premises. Two uniforms were just outside the door, and more moved into a protective circle around them as Ed and Violet stepped outside. Keeping a tight hold on Violet’s hand, he walked forward just far enough to provide a semicircular alcove in front of their entrance bounded by protective cops and fronted by reporters shouting unintelligible questions. He waved his hands over his head, making motions for quiet. Eventually the tumult died down as the throng recognized that he didn’t intend to answer anyone until after he had a chance to speak. When he judged the time was right, he began.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for coming. I know that you are anxious for further information concerning Deacon Wilshire’s accusations concerning the motives of God’s Fan Club, and also are anxious to question Miss Smith concerning that beautiful photograph which appeared today in The National Inquirer.” Puzzled expressions appeared on many faces. Beautiful picture? That certainly wasn’t what they expected him to say about it. They had been anticipating something akin to a politician’s spin to offset adverse news reports, not an open, bragging admission of culpability.

“Furthermore, you also probably want to hear about our lack of contributions to our primary designated recipient, the Salvation Army. I will address that item first.”

Slowly, dramatically, he pulled the check he had written earlier from his breast pocket. “I am sorry that initial expenses have been somewhat greater than anticipated, but most of them have now been taken care of. Therefore I have here a check drawn on our account in the sum of five thousand dollars, made out to the Houston headquarters of the Salvation Army, to be used as they deem best. Would a representative of a local station care to accept it on their behalf?”

He found a newswoman he remembered seeing on Channel 13, and picked her out of the shouted affirmations and waving hands, motioning her forward.

“Ms. Sheffield, on behalf of God’s Fan Club, I present this donation to your station so that you may forward it to the local Salvation Army—” The woman, dressed in a chartreuse pants suit, which clashed with her hair, reached out her hand, smiling for the cameras. He kept hold of one end of the check she held the other. “—on one simple condition. It may be used for any purpose, by any mission or charity in the Houston area sponsored by the Salvation Army except the one directed by Deacon Wilshire. He is specifically excluded from benefiting from this or any future funding. Is that acceptable, Ms. Sheffield?” Her hesitant objection to the qualification was drowned out in the tumult.

He released his end of the check as flashbulbs popped and cameras whirred, and she was left holding it in her hand. Shrugging inwardly, knowing that she was in the spotlight, she leaned toward the microphones and answered, “Thank you, Mr. Tanner. I’m sure the Salvation Army will be grateful.” She smiled her best smile, wishing she had dressed more attractively for the occasion.

Ed had telephoned the apartment owners earlier in the day when the crowds began gathering, and knew that Lori was nowhere to be found. He suspected her of shooting the video, then collecting a hefty fee for it and departing for greener vistas. He couldn’t be sure, but he was confident enough to continue.

“The next item concerns certain accusations of, in Deacon Wilshire’s words, fornication. He spoke of unimpeachable sources. I hereby invite him to produce his sources. Until he does, I will ignore that charge, as it so richly deserves to be. God’s Fan Club does not deal in unsupported insinuations, and neither should he.

“Furthermore, I would like to ask the deacon, publicly, here and now, why he failed to mention anything at all about the year of drudgery Miss Smith spent helping out at his mission after her graduation from Melissa Girl’s Academy. Has he no appreciation or gratitude for the fine work she performed there? Or perhaps, being an old man, he is growing, uh, senile. No, that’s not charitable. Perhaps he simply is despondent over Miss Smith leaving him after being called for more important work, and he is letting his imagination work overtime. That’s all I have to say about Deacon Wilshire.”

He waited expectantly for questions about the last item, Violet’s itsy bitsy bikini, knowing in the meantime that Wilshire was finished as a threat. No one would pay any further attention to him, especially after Violet took the spotlight.

The questions were yelled from the front row.

“What about that picture?”

“Where did it come from?”

“What does God think about her dressing like that?”

“I thought she was busy praying all the time. What’s she doing running around in a bikini?”

Again, Ed held up his hands to gain some quiet. “Rather than me answering your questions, wouldn’t you rather have Miss Smith speak for herself?”

The reaction was mass approval, yelled and shouted. Cameras tracked to get her in their frames as Ed stepped back and took her hand, gently pulling her forward a step or two.

She stood quietly for a moment, not responding to the shouts and yells. Ed raised his hands yet again and got the jostling reporters quieted down. Violet began to speak, slowly and distinctly, letting a tiny smile hang between sentences, like tachistoscopic frames of the Mona Lisa inserted into a movie reel.

“Really, I don’t understand why any explanation of that picture is necessary. While it was taken without my knowledge, I would have been glad to pose had I been asked. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I have been working very hard, and a daily swim is my only form of relaxation.” She paused expectantly. Ed knew the question would come, and it did.

“Don’t you think a representative of God should dress more appropriately?” That wasn’t quite what he wanted, but it was getting close.

“I don’t know how much more appropriate a bathing suit could be for taking a swim. Do you?”

“You know what I mean. You’re supposed to be a representative of God, and you’re running around in a bikini!”

Violet pursed her mouth, then smiled sweetly. “Well, what would you have me do? Go naked?”

Laughter exploded like a great swell of storm-tossed breakers chewing into a coral reef. It rose and swelled and rumbled through the crowd in a chain reaction, each explosion of laughter generating even more, until most of the crowd was gasping for breath. While it went on, Violet stood with her head bowed slightly, appearing to accept the laughter as modestly as possible. When it finally began to die down, she raised her head and smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to make you laugh.”

That only generated more mirth. She waited it out, still smiling gently with her hands clasped together in front of her. Finally, someone else asked the next question.

“Wilshire practically accused you of sleeping with Mr. Tanner. What about that?”

“We don’t sleep much,” she said. Ed had coached her well. She looked pained as more guffaws burst from throats already raw from laughing.

“I mean we stay so busy,” she offered.

More frantic laughter and yells of approval.

“We do have separate bedrooms, as we have explained before. Is this really important? I’ve been working and praying all day, and there’s more to be done before I can go to sleep.”

Ed stepped in front of her. “I’m sorry, that’s all for now. Miss Smith is tired. Thank you for coming.” Before reporters could react, he hustled her inside and locked the door. He had been holding back his own wild amusement with extreme difficulty, but now it burst out of him like a blown up paper bag suddenly slapped between two hands. He doubled over and held his stomach, trying to hold his laughter down so that it couldn’t be heard through the closed door. Violet tried to hold him up and failed. They fell to the floor together and rolled on the carpet like a pair of excited puppies. Eventually, he quieted and hugged Violet to him while they were still on the floor.

“Angel, you were wonderful! Didn’t I tell you how it would go? Didn’t I tell you!”

“I wouldn’t have believed it. Poor Deacon Wilshire. I feel sorry for him.”

“ ‘As ye sow, so shall ye reap,’ ” he quoted. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t much sympathy for him.” He patted her fondly. “I know you were close to him, but he deserved what he got.”

“Well, I guess I agree. Anyway, I’m proud of you for still giving the donation to the Salvation Army. I’m glad we got started on that.”

“Me, too,” he said, thinking of all the extra revenue the donation was likely to generate.

Violet wondered what she should do now with all the money she had been saving, but the thought slipped away from her as he got up and hauled her to her feet.

“Come on, angel, let’s crack some champagne and celebrate. All our troubles are over now. In fact, the only problem I foresee is how we’re going to be able to go anywhere without you being mobbed by all your fans.”

“I don’t mind so much anymore, as long as they let me eat in peace. Do you think all those reporters are gone now?”

“I doubt it, angel.” As if to confirm his observation, the doorbell and phone rang at the same time. He got up and pulled the phone jack from its plug and ignored the doorbell until it stopped ringing. He popped the cork on a bottle of Mum’s and poured.

“To you, angel,” he said, tinking her glass against his.

“To you, dear Ed.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Violet became an overnight celebrity. Requests for appearances on television programs, including all the talk shows, as well as requests for magazine interviews poured in from everywhere. Ed carefully screened them all, allowing very little access to her, and none away from Houston. He guarded her image carefully, yet kept her name and God’s Fan Club in the public eye by the very fact that she was so reclusive, apparently engrossed in prayer over all the mail that flooded in like water from a broken dam. He hired a temp to come to the apartment each day to help her with sorting and getting the money ready for deposit. After carefully checking the temp’s references, he required that the company providing her services put up a bond to assure her silence regarding their activities.

Violet let the temp stay long enough each day to get the bulk of the mail sorted according to what contained revenue and what didn’t, then she handled the rest of the chores. She continued to set aside some of the money. Holding out some cash each day had become a routine and she no longer thought much about it, simply stashing it into an increasing number of shoeboxes. She never bothered counting how much was there, figuring she would get to it when she decided what charity to give the money to.

She stayed very busy; so busy in fact that many mornings she found herself sending back Ruthie’s summaries without praying over them first. After a while, it ceased to bother her. The answers turned out were so alike that it didn’t seem to matter much. She still did say a prayer or two over an occasional letter that caught her attention as she scanned the mail, but even these became shorter and less frequent. She was swept along by the phenomena, and that, combined with her intimate involvement with Ed, kept her so occupied that she hardly had time to think. Reporters still frequented the apartment complex, and Ed allowed her out for only a short period each day, to go to the pool for a dip under carefully supervised conditions: A pool photographer, and only a few previously submitted questions were allowed.

They still went out in the evening, but now it was with an escort, as Ed termed it. Actually, without telling her, he had hired a bodyguard to accompany them. Violet didn’t read much of the original mail anymore, and he didn’t tell her of the increasing volume of letters threatening hellfire and damnation, or worse, from religious fanatics; nor did he let her see any of the numerous letters from sick individuals who liked to write obscene letters to celebrities.

Ed spent some afternoons shopping for the one thing still lacking in her now elaborate and sophisticated wardrobe; jewelry to enhance the smart outfits she owned. He bought her a pearl necklace and earrings to go with her white dresses, and gold and silver chains and pendants and earrings to go with her outfits after having a specialist come to the apartment to pierce her ears. He bought her several expensive watches, bracelets and rings and a jewelry box to contain all the new items. Violet protested at first, but he convinced her they were necessary for her appearances in public. Actually, he simply like to buy the jewelry for her and enjoy her enthralled reaction as she saw how they enhanced her beauty and complemented the clothes she wore them with.

The money continued to pour in, some days less than others, but the trend was always up, especially after the newsletter began going out, and the national magazines with ads for God’s Fan Club began appearing in the news racks. It almost seemed as if every body in America wanted to join God’s Fan Club, for amusement if not from religious conviction. Ed was still composing his fictitious letters, but now he did it at the office, scared that Violet would eventually catch him doing it at home.

Their lovemaking at night, and sometimes during the day after the temp had departed and the proceeds of the daily mail tabulated, continued to be a wonderful experience for both of them, but Ed’s happiness was tempered with the knowledge that it would soon end. He had already funneled more money to Al than he had ever expected to raise, and he knew they must be nearing the peak of possible new members. All fads died eventually, and he knew this one would, too. After that, it would be time to go.

The only thing interfering with Violet’s happiness was the lack of charitable contributions they seemed to be able to make. Whenever Violet brought the subject up, Ed always asked her who she wanted the money to go to, then sent a check, but she noticed that it was never much in comparison to the amount they were bringing in. Finally, she questioned him directly about it, one night when she could tell he was feeling mellow. He was scanning another tabloid with her picture in it. Though she wasn’t aware of it, he was also thinking about the numerous offers they had been receiving at the office from Hollywood, suggesting screen tests, offering contracts for movies, or suggesting the fan club phenomena might make a good TV series. He was settled back with his second scotch of the evening, and wishing there was some way to take advantage of all the offers, but he knew there wasn’t. Perhaps Violet could capitalize on some of them after he left. It would bring her in some income, anyway, and make the break easier on her.

Violet refilled his glass, then added some more scotch to her own, her gold charm bracelet tinkling as she poured. She sat down beside him. “Ed dear, can we talk a moment?”

“Sure, angel. What’s on that pretty mind of yours?”

“Well, I’ve been wondering. I know we’ve been donating some of the money to charitable causes, but it doesn’t seem like much in comparison to all that we’re bringing in.”

Uh oh. He knew this would come up eventually. He hoped he was well enough prepared to cope with it. He said, “Well, I keep thinking our expenses will level off, but new ones keep coming up.”

“I know, like the Lincoln we have leased, and all this jewelry you’ve bought me, and eating out and all.”

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself, angel? Most of those things are for your enjoyment, so you will feel good while you’re working. You’ve earned them, too.”

“Oh, I don’t begrudge those things, dear. In fact, I have to admit I do enjoy living like this. I never realized before how deprived I had been. In fact,” she added wistfully, “I’d kind of like for us to take a vacation sometime soon, just to get away from all the hassle for a while. Maybe a beach somewhere. The Caribbean, perhaps. I’ve heard it’s beautiful there.” She lit one of Ed’s cigarettes, which she was learning to smoke.

“We’ll definitely put that in our future plans.” He leaned over and kissed her, wishing they really could do something like that. Go away together and never come back. “In the meantime, I want to show you something.”

He got up and went to his briefcase where he pulled out the checkbook for God’s Fan Club. He sat back down and opened it up. “See, here are where most of our expenses are.” He traced his finger down pages of entries. Most of them were made out to Alfred Depo, others for office rent, supplies, postage and a many other items, some she recognized, some she didn’t. It wouldn’t have been unreasonable for her not to understand some of the entries, since they were entirely fictitious, but she didn’t bother with those. Her gaze kept going back to the checks made out to Al.

Her gaze followed his finger as it moved down the ledger. “Goodness, I never realized lawyers were so expensive, or that we had to use one so much for a simple thing like a fan club. What’s this one? Ten thousand for a charter?”

“That was for drawing up and filing our charter for a tax-exempt organization. It’s very complicated procedure.”

“Or look here: thirteen thousand in cumulative billing for professional services back when we first got started.”

“Oh, that. That was for when we had to use him to threaten the newspapers and magazines with suppression of religious freedom for when some of them didn’t want to run our ads.”

“Well, how about these? I don’t understand. Why on earth do we have to pay processing and legal fees when we make a donation? Why, he’s been charging us more each time than what we donated!”

“There’s a lot of legal complications when corporations donate money. If you don’t dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s, the government is liable to question your status.” He told a quick, derogatory lawyer joke to make it seem reasonable. It got a chuckle from her, but she still appeared concerned.

“Did we really have to pay him a fifty thousand dollar retainer just to protect us from libel suits? Why would anyone want to sue us?”

“People sue at the drop of a hat nowadays. It’s better to be protected, otherwise we could wind up losing everything we’ve worked for. Angel, I’m sorry, I just have no control over these things. When you don’t know anything about a subject, like law for instance, you just have to hire an expert and pay him for his knowledge. Al knows what he’s doing. He was a real whiz with the phone company before he got out on his own.”

Violet still seemed dubious, but she dropped the questioning. He was glad. The last few pages of the checkbook were worse than all the others combined so far as attorney’s fees were concerned. She leaned on his shoulder, thinking of the money she still had hidden in her closet. She wondered whether to tell him about it or simply give it to some worthy cause. She decided that perhaps she ought to keep it handy. If revenues began dropping off the way he said they would before too long, it might be necessary to carry them into the next year when the memberships would begin coming up for renewal.

Ed curled an arm around her shoulder. “Please don’t worry, angel. I think we’ve about got all the legal problems licked. Next month we can start making some really big contributions. Just tell me where you want them to go, and we’ll do it.”

“Why can’t we just take some money to a church and drop it in the poor box? That way, we wouldn’t have to worry about paying Al to fill out all those forms.”

“Then when we get audited, the IRS would want to know where the money disappeared to,” he said.

“Audited?”

“Oh yes, I forgot. That’s going to be a big item before we get settled. We’ll have to pay an auditor to make sure our books are straight before we file out tax forms next year, but Al can handle that. He’s a CPA. After that, though, I promise, we should be about clear.” He sighed theatrically.

Violet kissed him on the cheek and squeezed him in her arms. “Poor Ed. All I do is total the money and answer a few letters. You have all the worries.”

“I don’t mind, angel. I want to keep you happy.”

“I am happy, dear. I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

Nevertheless, she tossed and turned during the night, dreaming of lawyers and fees and expenses, and overriding all her dreams, the face and figure of Al Depo intruded. She woke up before Ed the next morning. She felt nauseated, but not enough to make the dream images go away. Gradually, they coalesced into a frightening thought. What if Al Depo was dishonest, and charging them for things which really didn’t need doing? Oh no, surely not. He was Ed’s friend. They had worked at the telephone company together. She suddenly realized that she had no idea of what phone company they had worked for, nor where it had been located. It was an oversight on Ed’s part, she was sure, or perhaps she had never asked him about it. In fact, it occurred to her that she knew surprisingly little about Ed, and even less about Al. Suppose, just suppose, that Al was only pretending to be Ed’s friend and was billing him for services far beyond what was really needed for the fan club? Poor dear Ed would never realize it. He trusted Al, just as he trusted her. She decided that she would get up and get started early on her work so that she would have time to do a little checking while Ed was gone. She slipped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. The nausea got worse. She barely made it to the bathroom in time to upchuck into the commode rather than onto the carpet.

The sound of her gagging woke Ed up. He got out of bed and knocked on the bathroom door. “Angel? Are you all right?”

The door opened and she appeared, wiping her mouth on a hand towel. “I am now, I think. I didn’t sleep very good last night. Maybe that’s it.”

“All that worry. Look, let me write you a check today. We can spare a little money. Give it to some worthy cause. Maybe that will perk you up.”

She nuzzled his neck. “No, don’t kiss me until after I’ve brushed my teeth. Thank you, dear. Leave the check on the cabinet if I’m not out before you leave.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Certain.”

Nevertheless she vomited once more before getting out of the bathroom and again right after Ed left for the office. After that she began to feel better, and attributed the nausea to fear that she would discover that Al had been cheating them.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Violet had no idea how to go about finding out whether Al was honest or not. She thought about it while she was handling the mail. She poured a glass of wine and lit a cigarette. The wine didn’t taste as good as it usually did, and after only a few puffs on the cigarette, she began to feel the nausea creeping back. She crushed it out in the ashtray, washed the ashtray and stuck in into the dishwasher out of sight. She ate some toast and the feel of solid food in her stomach finally banished the nausea. While she ate, she decided that the simplest way to begin her quest would be to start calling various attorneys and asking what their fees ran for the things Al had been billing them for. She wrote down all the items she could remember on a list, then carried the phone and phone book to the dinette table and began dialing.

The first thing she found out was that attorneys were reluctant to quote a fee over the phone, especially since she refused to divulge the type or size or nature of the business she was questioning them about. It took over an hour before she got her first hit, and she was about to get discouraged and give up the idea when that happened. An attorney told her in no uncertain terms that processing and legal fees for making charitable donations weren’t legitimate charges. Charitable contributions were simply listed on income tax forms, and any charges should be included in the fee for tax preparation, or if there were legal fees of some sort involved, they certainly should not exceed the amount of the donation.

Another hour of calling elicited the information that ten thousand dollars for drawing up a charter for a simple fan club, which she had finally admitted she was referring to, was excessive. This one informed her that if she anticipated forming another club, he would do the job for five hundred.

Only five hundred! she thought. Al Depo is cheating us! Ed walked in the door just about that time, and she hastily hung up the phone.

“Who was that?” he asked, bending over to kiss her.

“Just some silly lawyer wanting to do business with us. I told him we already had an attorney.”

“Good. Al can handle anything we need a lawyer for. Are you still feeling okay?”

“I feel fine,” she said. Physically she did, but mentally she was beginning to hurt. She wasn’t quite certain of her suspicions yet, but it certainly looked as if Al really was cheating them. Poor Ed. He would be devastated. She decided not to mention it yet.

“Good. I brought the mail in. It looks as if it may be starting to drop off now. There wasn’t quite so much today.” He felt sad at the thought. Soon, it would be time to leave, and he didn’t yet know how he was going to be able to bear it.

“I’ll get started on it right after lunch. What do you want to eat?”

“You go ahead. I’ll grab a bite with Al and Ruthie when we finish up, then we’ll go out for something tonight. Wear that new black dress. It looks great on you.”

She dimpled; he was always complimenting her, but she never got tired of it. After he left, she got back on the phone rather than fooling with the mail. She could always claim that the nausea had returned if she didn’t get to it.

Her next question to an attorney, when she finally got one to talk to her personally, was about that retainer fee against a libel suit. Again, she used the nature of a fan club as the basis for her question and asked the female attorney, “Ms. Valdez, what would you charge us as a retainer against possible libel suits for the fan club we’re forming?”

The attorney’s voice sounded young and vivacious. “Why, I wouldn’t charge you anything, dear. If a suit did come up, I would simply bill you on an hourly basis for my work. Of course, I would have to charge a hundred dollars for an appointment to discuss taking you on as a client. Would that be satisfactory?”

“It sounds very reasonable, thank you.”

“Thank you for calling. Good luck on your fan club. If I can help you in any other way, please feel free to make an appointment. It would all be included in the same fee unless the time I spent with you initially ran over an hour.”

Violet felt the beginning of a headache. She didn’t have to make any more phone calls. She was sure now. Preoccupied, she began sorting he mail, taking out her usual third of the cash and stashing it with the rest. She wondered how on earth she would ever be able to tell Ed of her discovery, but it would have to be done. He might be hurt and sorely disappointed with his friend Al, but he would simply have to bear it. This couldn’t go on any longer.

She was quiet during dinner that night, rolling thoughts over in her mind. When Ed asked her if anything was wrong, she told him that she still wasn’t feeling very well, which was no lie. She certainly wasn’t.

“Maybe you should go see a doctor in the morning if you’re still upset,” he said. He lit a cigarette and offered the pack to her.

“No, I think I better leave them alone for a day or two. Maybe that’s what’s making me feel bad,” she said.

“Could be,” he admitted. “It’s a nasty habit, anyway.”

“Maybe so, but I have to admit they go good with a drink or after a meal.”

“Or after sex.” He grinned.

“That, too. Speaking of which, are we about ready?”

“For you, I’m always ready.” He called the waiter for their check.

The sex was as good as it always was, but she was nauseated again the next morning. What on earth was wrong with her? She had never been sick in her life. It must be the nervous tension of knowing that Ed’s dear friend was cheating them out of so much of the money they had taken in with God’s Fan Club. She had intended to broach the subject with him this morning, but the wretched state of her innards made her decide to put it off for a bit. She tried to conceal the way she felt, but he heard her retching in the bathroom again.

Ed began to get worried. He insisted that she see a doctor, then called for an appointment, and bulled his way into making them accept her as a walk-in.

He took her inside and got her registered, then asked if she wanted him to stay with her.

“No, you go ahead. I know you have things to do at the office. Pick me up on your way back. I’ll call if I get finished early.”

“All right, angel. Don’t let the doctor brush you off with a couple of aspirins. Make him find out what the real problem is.”

“I will.” She still thought that worry about Al’s chicanery was causing the nausea, but she didn’t want to argue with him. He was so good to her, and so concerned, as if she had a major illness.

This was her first real visit to a doctor as an adult. Ordinarily she would have been embarrassed with all the poking and prying and especially the breast examination, except for the fact that the doctor was a fatherly white haired old man three times her age.

She winced when he prodded her breasts.

“Are your breasts sore?” he asked.

“I haven’t noticed it before, but now that you mention it, I guess they are.”

“Hmm. Sore breasts, morning nausea. Tell you what. Run back to the lab and give them a urine specimen, then go back to the waiting room until the nurse calls you back in. It won’t be long.”

“Is something wrong with me?”

“Let’s wait on the urine test, shall we? Here, take this with you.” He scribbled on a lab request form and handed it to her. “Give this to the lab tech. She’ll tell you what to do.”

Violet found the lab where she was given a plastic cup and shown to the bathroom. The tech took the specimen and asked her to wait outside.

She spent fifteen minutes in the waiting room chewing her lip, too nervous to read any of the old magazines. It seemed like an hour to her before the nurse called her name and led her back to the examining room.

The old doctor was examining the urine test results. She wondered what kind of test he’d asked for. She hadn’t even thought to look at the request form.

He looked up as she came in. He glanced at her left hand and saw no wedding ring. He shrugged inwardly. It wasn’t as uncommon a phenomenon as it had been in his younger days.

“Well, Miss Smith, it looks as if you’re pregnant. Congratulations—if that’s in order.”

Violet stared at him. “Pregnant? Ohmigod!”

“Surprised, huh? Well, it happens that way some times. What method were you using?”

“Method?”

“What kind of birth control?”

What with her involvement with the fan club and her unorthodox and almost spontaneous liaison with Ed, the matter of birth control had never crossed her mind.

“I guess I wasn’t using any. I didn’t think about it.”

The old man sighed. “Well, it’s too late now. Do you know who the father is?”

“Of course I do!” she said indignantly.

“Well, I suggest that you let him know, and the both of you decide what you want to do about it. In the meantime, you really should have a pelvic exam.”

“Can I come back for that? My … friend will be here to pick me up shortly.”

“Certainly, but don’t put it off very long. If you decide you want to continue the pregnancy, I can recommend a good gynecologist.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much.” She wandered back to the desk in a state of shock, paid her bill and sat down to wait for Ed. Poor dear, now he would have two worries instead of one. She decided to put off telling him about this latest news until the matter of Al had been settled.

While Violet was getting the shock of her life, Ed was encountering his own problems. Immediately upon entering the office, Ruthie informed him that Al needed to see him as soon as possible.

“Is anything wrong?” he asked.

“Al will tell you about it.”

He walked up the one flight of stairs and around the corner to Al’s office. The temp he had hired to replace Ruthie already knew him, and ushered him into the office immediately. Al had a grim look on his face.

“Sit down, Ed. I’ve got some bad news.”

“Uh oh.”

“Yeah. I got a call this morning from a contact I keep on retainer, a paralegal working for Juanita Valdez. We’ve had dealings before. She doesn’t like me, which is why I’ve kept a conduit into her office. My contact tells me someone is calling around checking on usual and customary attorney’s fees for legal advice and help for fan clubs.”

“Uh oh,” Ed said again.

“Yeah. You wouldn’t happen to know who this person who’s doing the inquiring might be, would you?”

“Not a clue, Al, but it doesn’t sound good. Do you think it’s time to jump?”

Al rubbed his chin while he thought about it. “Yeah, I guess it is. No use taking chances. Tell you what. You go on home and clear up what matters you have to there, then get your reservations made for wherever you plan on skipping off to. Come back here tomorrow. It will take me that long to convert your share into cash.”

Ed felt his heart sink down toward his belt buckle. He knew it was coming, but the abruptness was disconcerting. One last night with Violet, and it would all be over. He felt tears forming, and held them back by a heroic act of will. The only positive thing he could come up with was that it had been the most enjoyable scam he had ever worked—and with a woman he’d fallen in love with and would now have to desert. He couldn’t imagine himself changing his spots, and he couldn’t imagine Violet changing hers.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Violet jumped to her feet as soon as she saw Ed appear in the waiting room. She hurried to him and hugged him tightly, an uncharacteristic public display of affection. Several waiting patients smiled at the couple. They were obviously in love.

Ed led her outside. “Did you find out what’s wrong with you?” he asked anxiously.

“Just a virus. I’ll be over with it soon.” She hated telling lies, even little white lies like this one, especially to Ed, but she didn’t intend to confront him with this problem just yet. In a few days, after they got the other matter settled would be soon enough.

“Oh, angel, I’m so glad. I was worried about you.” Bad enough that he was going to have to leave without having to leave her behind while she was ill.

“You make me feel good saying that. Do you have to go back to the office again today?”

“No, we’re finished. In fact Al told me things will be calming down there very quickly now.” He checked his watch. “Tell you what. I picked up tomorrow’s mail on the way. Let’s run home and sort it real quick, then go out for a real super dinner.”

“Super how?”

“All the trimmings. Champagne—the best in the house. Grilled lobster tails and prime rib. Cheesecake. After that, we’ll go home and jump into bed. That is, if you feel up to it,” he amended quickly.

“I feel fine, now. That sounds like a great idea. I’ll wear that first white dress you bought me with the pearl necklace and earrings. We’ll have a great time.” Why not, she thought. Let him have one more night without any worries, then I’ll tell him about Al tomorrow evening.

Back home they combined to sort the mailbags, and finished earlier than anticipated. It really was beginning to drop off. It’s so sad, Violet thought. Just when I discover why we haven’t been able to accumulate any more money than we have, now it begins to stop coming in.

She dressed with exceptional care, wearing some of her new satin undergarments under her dress. Ed would enjoy seeing her in them as she disrobed tonight.

Ed thought she looked absolutely radiant, and told her so, several times. He did his best to pay as much attention to her as he possibly could. If nothing else, he wanted her to remember her last night with him as something to savor in future years, after enough time had passed to blur her memory of what a scoundrel he was.

It was indeed an enchanting evening for them both. They went to a posh restaurant at the top of one of the downtown towers. It was a clear moonless night, and lights of the city shined with particular brilliance, creating a fairyland for miles in every direction. They shared a huge, four-pound lobster, feeding each other bites from it, and laughing when drawn butter dribbled down their chins. They drank champagne from a fine French vintage, and topped off their cheesecake with rich Irish coffee topped with whipped cream thick enough to float the silver spoons they stirred it with. They each tried their utmost to have the other enjoy every single moment of the magical night, and both of them succeeded.

Back home, they carried ice cold blackberry brandy to bed with them, and sipped on it between bouts of furious lovemaking which left them panting with exhaustion, then wild to try it again. The last time, when Ed held her so close he thought their bodies might melt together, he said, softly, “Remember, angel, no matter what ever happens, remember that I’ll always love you.”

Violet was so enthralled with the last rising tide of excitement that she never even considered that his statement might have a hidden meaning. She was just so glad that the night had gone so perfectly that she responded with the same words of love.

They fell asleep holding one another like twins afraid that they were gong to be separated for the first time in their life the next day.

Ed had intended to tell her the whole sordid story the next morning before he left to pick up his money, but found that he was totally incapable of uttering the words. Instead, he kissed her goodbye with as much passion as he had ever felt in his life, and walked out. In the Lincoln, he dropped his head onto the steering wheel and cried aloud for the first time since childhood. After a while he wiped his eyes, started the car and drove away, feeling like the worst cad in the history of the world.

As he neared the office building, he remembered seeing the sign of a courier service nearby and pulled to the curb. He went inside, took one of the message forms and wrote:

My dearest angel,

I won’t be back. Within a day or two you will find out that I have been living a sham. The fan club was nothing more than a way to pull a scam on the public. Now you know what I really do for a living. “Boilerroom,” my nickname among other members of the bunco profession, comes from the phone scams I have been involved in.

Believe me, I never intended, not for one minute, to ever hurt you. I only wish there was some way to make you understand how much I love and admire you, but knowing what you do now, I’m sure that no longer has meaning for you.

Please try to forget me and get on with your life, although I know that I will never forget you nor ever stop loving you. God should only create angels like you.

Goodbye, my darling, good luck and God bless you always.

He considered for a moment, then signed the note: Ed.

He sealed it, addressed the envelope, then paid the courier and asked that it be delivered in two hours. He saw no sense in delaying it further. Al was reliable. He would have the cash waiting for him in the usual locked suitcase. He had been so involved with Violet the night before that he had completely forgotten to make reservations, but that wouldn’t be a problem. There were several flights a day leaving for Las Vegas. He would be on one of them.

Al’s office was closed and locked when he tried the door. Strange, he thought. It’s too early for lunch. Then he thought, he’s probably down at the office with Ruthie, clearing up some last minute business. He walked down to the next floor. Yes, the office was open. He pushed through the door, confidently expecting to see Al and Ruthie there. Instead, there was only the temp, sitting at he desk and reading a magazine. She looked up when she heard him come in.

“Is Mr. Depo around?” he asked.

“Didn’t he tell you? He and his wife left the country early this morning.”

Wife? When had they gotten married? Ed felt his heartbeat begin to thud in his chest like the slow dirge of drums escorting a condemned man to the scaffold. “Did he leave anything for me here, like a suitcase?” He knew it was hopeless even as he asked.

“No suitcase, but he did leave a message for you in case you showed up.” She handed him a sealed envelope. He tore it open and read:

Ed, old buddy, it’s been fun, but this was my last hurrah. Ruthie and I have retired and departed for parts unknown. I have to admit that God’s Fan Club was one of the greatest scams ever pulled off. It will go down in history, and you will be remembered by the profession as a great artist. Too bad you couldn’t have benefited from it, but you’re young and I know you’ll manage to get along. Remember: stay away from those bimbos. They’re poison.

It was signed with a flourish, as if his last bit of penmanship indicated Al’s mood.

Ed folded the note and slid it into the vest pocket of his coat. Now what? Broke again, and this time he was left with only the clothes on his back and what few dollars he had left in his pocket. He certainly didn’t intend to go back and face Violet, not for just a few clothes. No, wait! The last day’s batch of mail was still at the apartment. He remembered now. He had intended to bring the cash with him, but saying goodbye to Violet had been so traumatic that he had completely forgotten about it. He checked his watch. If he hurried he could arrive back there before the courier arrived and intercept the message before Violet had a chance to read it! Then he could collect the money and use some excuse for going back out again. It wouldn’t be more than a couple of thousand dollars, but that might make all the difference in the world in how soon he could get set up in business again. He skipped the elevator. He knew it would be running slow with most of the occupants of the building just now leaving for lunch. He took the stairs to ground level two at a time, and ran to where he had parked the Lincoln, then cursed. A meter maid was writing out a parking ticket. He had forgotten to drop any coins in the meter. He tried to hurry her along with filling out the ticket, but her motions were as slow as molasses, deliberate to a fault. Her tongue licked at the corner of her mouth as she slowly filled out the simple form, pausing before writing each word as if she had to remember the whole alphabet before each stroke of her pen. He fidgeted wildly as she slowly completed the form, checking his watch every few seconds. At last, she completed the task and tore the ticket off her pad and handed it to him as if she were handing him a Masters thesis on the subject of traffic tickets. He grabbed it from her hand and jumped into the driver’s seat. He started the car and tore away from the curb, almost running over her in his hurry to get away.

Vehicles from the lunch hour crowd were bunched as thickly in the streets as buds on a head of broccoli. He pounded his fists on the steering wheel in frustration until he finally pulled out of the downtown thicket of cars and onto the loop. Even there, the traffic was congested. It seemed as if every lunch-goer in Houston had decide to head for the east side of the city today. When he finally pulled up in the parking lot at the Amigo apartments, he looked frantically around to see if he could spot the courier car. It was nowhere in sight. Maybe it still hadn’t arrived, even though it was nearer to three hours than the two he had specified at the courier office. Maybe they had gotten stalled in traffic, too, he thought. Sure, that’s what happened. He ran for the door and burst inside. Violet was sitting at the dinette table, just finishing reading his last words to her. She stared at his sudden appearance as if he had just arrived from Mars. His body sagged like a deflated football. He was too late, too late to retract his words, too late to collect any money, too late for everything.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Violet was reading his message not for the first time, but the third. Each time she finished, she paused and stared into space, running over in her mind all the hints she might have gathered during her association with Ed that would have told her he was running a scam. In retrospect, it seemed as if she should have caught on immediately and dumped him when he first began talking about God’s Fan Club. It had seemed so reasonable at the time, though, and each succeeding step in his scam had carried her along, like a piece of driftwood in a swift moving currant, going too fast for her to stop and analyze his motives or actions. Then, she had fallen in love with him, and that made it so much easier to go along with whatever he told her. She felt as if she were now wearing one of his dirty coats, covering her with the patina of his machinations. And yet—and yet, during the third reading she began to smile a little through her tears, remembering some of the outrageous lies he had told, the distortions he had foisted off on the public. And he hadn’t really told her many untruths until right at the end, when he was trying to conceal Al’s part in the scam. Evidently, the crooked attorney was a part of it, otherwise he wouldn’t have hung around so long while money was being filtered into his hands.

She stared at him, standing before her like a whipped dog waiting to see what torture its master was going to inflict on it next. Whipped dog? That wasn’t his style! Not Ed Tanner! Something must have gone terribly wrong to bring him back here. She found herself wanting to go to him and comfort him, like a prodigal son suddenly returned after blowing the family fortunes.

She looked down at part of his last message again. I will always love you and never forget you. Did he really mean that or had he simply been trying to make her feel better? She remembered his last words from the night before: Remember angel, no matter what happens, I’ll always love you.

“Why did you come back?” she asked quietly.

Ed decided to be completely honest. He owed her that much, at least. “Al skipped town with my share of the money. I was hoping I could get back here and pick up enough to get started again from the last bag of mail before you got that message. I’m sorry, Angel, I wish I could tell you that I came back to beg you to keep loving me, but I already knew there was no hope of that. I just wanted to get enough money for a little stake.” He grinned wryly. “Otherwise, I may wind up spending the night at the Salvation Army again.”

“Well, at least you’re that honest.”

“I was always as honest with you as I could be, considering the circumstances. Not that I expect you to believe me.”

“Strangely, I do, I think. I wish I could believe all the sentiments you expressed so eloquently in this letter here.” She held up the courier message like a discredited talisman.

“Angel, I meant every word of it. If I had thought for even a moment you would forgive me for pulling this stunt, I wouldn’t have left.”

“And I suppose you would promise never to do anything like it again?”

He forced a grin. “No, I wouldn’t have promised you that. I don’t know of any other way to make a living. In fact, to be perfectly honest again, I’ve never found any other way I want to make a living. Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Why not? It’s still as much your home as mine, at least until the rent comes due.”

Ed eyed a half full bottle of scotch sitting on the cabinet. He collected a glass and ice and splashed liquor into it.

“Fix me one, too. And light me a cigarette,” Violet said.

Ed eyed her curiously. There was a strange calmness to her voice, yet with a hint of emotion beneath it, not anger, but more as if she were trying to decide whether to laugh or cry. “Do you mean you’re not mad at me? I can’t believe that,” he said. He poured her drink and brought it to her, feeling his body tremble as their hands touched momentarily. He wanted to touch her and hold her so badly that it was like a pain in his chest, but he knew he no longer had that right.

“Mad at you? No, Ed, I’m not mad. I’m furious! You took an innocent little girl away from her environment and turned her into a goat, a stalking horse for your scam. God’s Fan Club, indeed! The whole country will be laughing at how gullible I was.”

“You have to admit that you thought it was a good idea at the time,” he said. “In fact, it’s one of the best ideas I ever had. If I hadn’t trusted Al, I would have a big enough stake right now to live on for years.”

“If I hadn’t trusted you, I would still be thinking of God as a caring father, an entity watching over me and guiding me and leading me into righteousness.”

“I sort of noticed you gradually stopped praying so much and began enjoying yourself like a normal young woman should. I’m glad. I like you much better this way.”

Violet shook the ice in her drink and tilted it to her mouth. “Don’t you believe in God at all?”

“Not the way you do, like an old man watching every move we make, and throwing lightning bolts at us when we don’t toe the line. Remind me to tell you about my early upbringing sometime.”

“I can sort of imagine. I wonder how I would have turned out if I hadn’t been so protected. Right now I feel as if I was raised in a tinted glass cage, protected from sunlight.”

“I think you would have turned out just about the way you are now. A beautiful, sensuous woman who doesn’t take God so seriously that she doesn’t think every quotation from a preacher must be the literal truth, handed down from on high.”

Violet smiled as if she meant it for the first time. “Like you pretended to be. You’re a scoundrel, Ed. Or should I call you Boilerroom?”

“That’s what my friends who know me well call me. You may as well, too.”

“Boilerroom. I sort of like it, though it would take some getting used to.” She paused to reflect. “So, what are your plans now?”

“I had hoped to collect enough money back here for a stake, but I won’t steal any more from you. You can give it to charity like you wanted to, or keep it to live on. Whatever you want to do. I’ll make out. Somehow.”

Violet thought about the idea, and found that she had no desire to give the money away. Perhaps she should give it to Ed and let him go on his way. There was plenty more back in the closet. She suddenly realized that she had no idea at all of what her future plans might be.

“Ed, you’re a scoundrel, and the truth isn’t in you, but I can’t send you out into the world penniless. You can have the money here. Al has already gotten away with most of what would have gone to charity, anyway.”

“No, I don’t want to leave you without anything to live on. You take it. And don’t say the truth isn’t in me. It is, in one instance, anyway.”

“Oh, what’s that?”

“I meant what I said. I love you, angel. I’ll never stop loving you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” He drained his glass and refilled it while trying to hold back tears. He felt his chest tighten with an emotional pain more intense than he had imagined was possible.

“And yet you won’t ask me to go with you, wherever you’re heading.”

He shook his head, wishing it were possible. “No, that’s no life for you, angel. Go somewhere where no one will recognize you. Forget me and find a job and make a regular life for yourself.”

Violet thought of where she might go. A vision from a few days ago impinged on her mind. “Do you remember the other day when I said I’d like to go to a beach somewhere, maybe down in the Caribbean? I think that’s what I’d really like to do, at least for awhile.”

He eyed the single moneybag. “There might be enough in there to carry you for awhile. I wish we could have gone together. It would have been fun.”

“If you loved me as much as you claim, you would be asking to go with me.”

“If I loved you as much? I love you more than I can ever tell you. Remember those vows we said? I meant every word of them, even though I knew it couldn’t be forevermore. I wish it could have been, though. If I didn’t make my living bilking the public, I would be begging you to leave with me right now. You can’t live like that, though. You’re too fine a person.”

Violet was silent for a long while. She thought of her new clothes, the jewelry that Ed had bought for her, their evenings in fine restaurants. She remembered that he had taught her to appreciate fine wine, how to dress attractively, how to make the most of herself, and how he paid so much attention to her and complimented her so often and dearly. And most of all, she thought of the way he had responded so hesitantly, almost bashfully, to the first stirring of desire in her body, not wanting to hurt her. She remembered the wonderful nights and days of making love as if they were the first people in the world to ever discover sex. How could she forget all those things? And yet, if she let him go, she would have to. And if she went with him, she knew she would have to learn to live as he did; there was no way he would change. He admitted as much, honestly, when he really didn’t have to. She turned all these thoughts over and over in her mind. Suddenly she laughed.

“You wrote all those funny letters to God yourself, didn’t you? When I wasn’t worrying how God would feel about them, I found myself laughing out loud. Do you have that much fun with all your capers?”

Ed grinned. “I try to have fun with whatever scam I’m pulling. If you start getting serious, you start thinking too much about the people you’re stealing the money from.”

“You mean you have a conscience?”

“I have something that serves the purpose. I don’t really feel sorry for the marks who donate money to my causes. If I didn’t take it, they would just waste it on someone else’s schemes. Most people are dishonest, when you get right down to it. They always think they’re going to get the better part of the deal. That’s what makes a scam work. I do try to stay within the letter of the law, though, sort of, even though I’m sure there’s lots of folks around the country who would like to sue me or, more likely, shoot me if they could get their hands on me.”

“Like the folks who joined God’s Fan Club, for instance? They’re going to be disappointed at not getting their newsletter or being able to write God about every little question that comes up, anymore.”

“If they want answers, let them pray for them like they used to do. Hell, who knows? Maybe God will even answer some of them, though I wouldn’t bet the farm on it.”

Violet laughed again. It sounded like sort of a fun life, going around the country and seeing just how gullible ordinary people could be. There was another question he had to answer first, though, before she would even consider joining him.

“Ed, let me ask you: Did that vow you made so seriously on what we called our wedding night per chance include the possibility of a family?”

“You mean like kids? I’ve never thought about it.”

“Well, you need to start thinking. I’m pregnant.”

He was on his feet in an instant, striding forward to enfold her in his arms. “Angel, angel, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would it have made a difference in your decision to leave?”

“Probably not. I still wouldn’t have believed you could still love me after the scam unraveled, and I still don’t think it’s any kind of life for you, not to mention a kid. One thing, though, I damn sure would have held back enough money to take care of you and the kid, and left it in a safe place for you where the lawyer couldn’t touch it! My God, a kid! Oh, angel, you must have felt horrible when the courier brought that letter.” He held on to her as if he would never let her go again.

Violet felt the hammering of his heart as she pressed against him. Well, that answered that question. She turned her face up, and he kissed her gently. She made her decision.

“All right, when do we leave? I guess if you learned to be a scam artist, I can, too. It won’t be a dull life, anyway.”

Ed hugged her fiercely. “I can guarantee you that much. Are you sure, angel? I promise to take care of you, anyway. I’ll send you all the money I can, just as soon as I get back on my feet.”

“Never mind. I’m going with you. Where do you want to go?”

“I’d really like to head for the Caribbean, like you wanted to, but I guess that will have to wait. We don’t have enough money to finance that kind of trip, yet. I promise it to you, though, just as soon as I possibly can.”

“Why don’t we go now?”

“I told you—”

“Come here, I want to show you something.” She took his hand and led him into her old bedroom and slid the closet door aside. She began pulling out shoeboxes and upending them onto the bed, spilling sheaves of greenbacks into a pile that grew higher and higher.

Ed stared at the money until his eyes goggled like a fresh hooked tuna. “My God, where did all that come from?”

Violet grinned as mischievously as an imp with a concealed pitchfork in its pocket. “You’re not the only scam artist. I’ve been skimming off cash almost from the start of the fan club. It’s too bad Deacon Wilshire turned out to be such a muckraker. Originally, I intended to give it to him, but after he raised so much Cain, I decided not to. After that, I just kept adding to it, thinking one day I would give it away, and the next deciding to wait a while. After a time, I just decided to keep it and see what happened.”

“And I never knew a thing about it,” he said admiringly. “Hell, I won’t have to teach you much. You’ve already got the basics down. We can head for the Caribbean anytime you’re ready. How about the Cayman Islands? I have a contact there who can launder this money so clean that it will look like it’s gone through a washing machine.”

“Well, shall we start packing?”

“Not yet. Or maybe we should. Let’s get out of these clothes, and see if they don’t belong in a suitcase.” He began unbuttoning her blouse.

Later, he thought of something. “Hey, what are we going to name the kid?”

Violet grinned. “If it’s a boy, let’s name him Boilerroom for real. With a name like that, he’ll already know what his profession is going to be when he grows up.”

Two days later, they were on their way to the airport, a newly-signed marriage certificate tucked away in their luggage. As the cab turned off the loop and headed north on 59, they talked animatedly.

Ed said, “Hey, you know I’ve read about a supposed dinosaur living in the Congo. What would you think about forming a corporation, and starting to look for some investors to put up money for an expedition?”

“You really want to go to the Congo?”

Ed grinned like the Cheshire cat. “Hell, no, I wouldn’t go within ten thousand miles of that place. But there’s nothing that says we can’t collect money from people we convince there’s a real dinosaur there, though. Shucks, kids have been growing up on dinosaurs for twenty years. They ought to be old enough now to turn loose a bit of their money if we played it right. All it would take would be a few ads to get things rolling, a little well planned publicity, then we sit back and start raking in the cash. Let’s see, now, what do you think of the idea of selling shares in the project? Or we could…”

They were still talking when their plane took off.