The alliance between Cynthia Pryce and Sandra Kelly had been forged six month earlier. Though their motivations for outing Hezekiah Cleaveland were different, the means served each of their purposes well. Sandra had introduced Cynthia to Phillip Thornton, the Los Angeles Chronicle publisher, after Cynthia told her about the e-mails between Hezekiah and Danny St. John during a dinner party at the Cleaveland estate.
The table in the dining room had been set to perfection. An elaborate floral arrangement in the center of the table was illuminated by the massive crystal chandelier above. Eight place settings held so many utensils, plates, bowls, and goblets that even the most sophisticated diner would have been at a loss determining what their specific uses were.
Four servers wearing black vests, dark pants and skirts, hovered unobtrusively near each guest. They poured wine and anticipated the needs of the guests before the diners had the chance to lift their hands or catch an eye for attention. Plates of ranch quail, grilled over vine cuttings, with red wine sauce, chanterelle mushrooms, potato cakes, and herb salad were placed before each guest.
Hezekiah sat at the head of the table. To his right and left were Hector Ramirez, the mayor of Los Angeles, and his wife, Miranda. Then came Percy and Cynthia Pryce, and next to them Sandra Kelly and Kenneth Davis. Samantha sat facing Hezekiah at the opposite end of the table.
“I’ve lived in Los Angeles my entire life and I’ve never seen as many homeless people living on the streets and in the parks as there are today,” Cynthia said to the mayor. “Can’t the city do more to help them?”
“I was downtown at a meeting yesterday and I was amazed at how aggressive panhandlers have become,” Kenneth chimed in. “Two to three people on every block stopped me to ask for money. I like to think I’m a compassionate man, but that was a bit overwhelming for me.”
“I don’t feel that way at all,” Percy said. “I always carry extra cash so I can give it to people when they ask.”
“I think that does more harm than good, Reverend Pryce,” Sandra said between sips of white wine. “Most homeless people are either addicted to drugs and alcohol or mentally ill. Giving them cash only perpetuates their addiction.”
“Nonsense,” Percy said defensively. “I’d rather give a dollar directly to a homeless person than to some of these so-called ‘nonprofit agencies’ that take forty cents off the top of every dollar they collect.”
“That’s a gross generalization,” Hector said, leaning forward in his seat. “Many of the organizations that the city funds to serve the homeless are doing amazing work and are fiscally responsible.”
Hezekiah finally spoke. “I agree. I know of an outreach worker who works for an agency downtown”—Hezekiah contained his passion and spoke cautiously—“He is a selfless and compassionate guy. He does amazing work with some of the most destitute people in this city.”
Cynthia’s ears perked up. She could not believe Hezekiah had the audacity to talk about his lover in such glowing terms in front of everyone. “He sounds like a wonderful person, Pastor. What’s his name?” she asked slyly.
Hezekiah looked at her with an innocent expression and said, “I can’t remember offhand, but I know he does good work.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying there aren’t any good social service agencies out there,” Percy said before he could swallow his most recent bite of quail. “The point I’m trying to make is if I give the money myself, I know it won’t end up in the pockets of some overpaid administrator.”
“Since I’ve taken office, the city has doubled its budget for social service programs. We’ve built three new shelters and two new community clinics,” Hector replied defensively. “But it’s still not enough. The reality is governments can only do so much to address the social ills that face this city. We need to develop more public and private partnerships with the corporate and faith communities.” Hector looked to Hezekiah. “We need churches like yours to step up to the plate and help us.”
Hezekiah smiled and said, “Don’t you start on me too. New Testament Cathedral has been on the front line in the fight against poverty. We have clothes and food drives. Our members volunteer at shelters, and we make generous contributions to several agencies around the city.”
“That doesn’t sound like the front to me,” Sandra said. “Sounds more like the tail.” The table fell silent. “Homeless people don’t need more hand-me-down clothes or dented cans of tuna. They need affordable housing. They need affordable health care and drug rehabilitation programs.”
“Is that so?” Hezekiah asked. “Then why don’t you tell us how much you give to the homeless? And I don’t mean giving them your doggie bag after you’ve dined at Spago.”
“Hezekiah, you shouldn’t ask her a personal question like that,” Samantha interjected. “Sandra, ignore him. He’s just being provocative.”
“No, I think it’s a fair question,” Sandra said, laying her fork gently on her plate. “First of all, I haven’t eaten at Spago in years, Hezekiah,” Sandra said, leaning back in her chair. “I didn’t know anyone other than tourists still went there. And as for your second question, last year alone my law firm worked over one thousand hours pro bono on discrimination cases involving low-income housing. And, before you ask, I personally have donated a substantial portion of my own income to multiple charities in Los Angeles and New York.”
Hezekiah looked coldly at Sandra and said, “That’s admirable, Sandra, but I don’t think that places you in a morally superior position, nor does it give you the right to criticize what we do at New Testament Cathedral.”
“I hadn’t intended for it to. I simply wanted to answer your question.”
There was an uneasy tension at the table. The easy chatter that had preceded the most recent exchange was now replaced with awkward glances and a preoccupation with bread crumbs that had fallen on the table. The servers’ pace slowed a notch as the tone of the party shifted.
There was a brief silence, and then Percy spoke. “Sandra, Hezekiah is right. I don’t think that is a thorough or fair depiction of the significant impact New Testament Cathedral has had on the lives of poor people in this city,” he said diplomatically. “Hezekiah gives something more important than housing. He gives them hope with his message. He feeds their soul.”
Sandra rolled her eyes but did not respond, and Cynthia coughed as if choking on the words her husband just spoke.
“That is very important,” Miranda said, “but with all due respect to Hezekiah, and all other ministers in this city, a sermon doesn’t keep a person warm and dry at night when they are sleeping under a bush in Griffith Park.”
Hector looked at his wife sharply. “Miranda,” he rebuked. “I’m sure Hezekiah is doing his best. As you can see, Miranda is very passionate about this issue.”
“That’s all right, Hector,” Hezekiah said. “Miranda is right. The church should be doing more. Samantha and I have been thinking of ways we can get more involved in the issue.”
Hezekiah looked to Samantha for support, but instead, she placed her napkin on the table and said, “Why don’t we all go into the living room? We can have our coffee and after dinner liqueur, if you’d like, in there.”
The guests filed in pairs from the dining room into the living room. They were greeted by the sound of a Mozart sonata played by a pianist on the baby grand in a corner of the room. A lavish silver coffee setting had been placed on a table behind the sofa, and a server stood near another table, which held a full brandy decanter and matching Baccarat glasses.
Miranda and Samantha sat chatting in chairs that faced the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Pacific Ocean. “I hope I didn’t offend you with my comment earlier,” Miranda said. “I get so upset when people criticize Hector on his homeless policies.”
“I wasn’t offended. I’m glad you said it. Hezekiah needed to hear that,” Samantha replied. “I tried to convince him that we should have built an affordable housing complex instead of the new cathedral, but you know how men are. It’s all about ego and power.”
“The same could be said about Hector. Sometimes I think if he could marry his ego, he would have no use for me at all.”
The two women laughed in unison.
“Behind Hector’s painted-on smiles and expensive suits, there really is a man who cares about people,” Miranda continued. “It hurts him to see so many people living on the streets in this city. I think, if he could, he would build a shelter in every neighborhood, but people won’t let him.”
“I wish I could say the same for Hezekiah,” Samantha said, “but he only has himself to blame for doing so little to help the homeless. It was his idea to build the cathedral, and once his mind is set, there is no changing it.”
Hezekiah and Hector stood near the fireplace, sipping brandy. “I’m sorry about what Miranda said earlier,” Hector said. “Sometimes she says things without thinking first.”
“Not a problem, Hector. Samantha is the same way. I’ve had to apologize for inappropriate things she’s said in public more times than I’d care to remember.”
“The real problem this city faces in addressing homelessness is its lack of coordination of services,” Hector continued. “There are five different departments that fund and monitor programs for the homeless and none of them know what the other is doing.”
“You should hire Samantha,” Hezekiah said with a smile. “She knows what every department in the church is doing and where every dime is spent.”
Kenneth and Percy accepted cups of coffee from the server. “Sandra was completely out of line,” Percy said quietly. “She took shots at Hezekiah every chance she got.”
“I think the rumors are true about her,” Kenneth said while stirring his coffee and clinking the inside of the cup with a silver spoon. “Did you notice the way she looks at Samantha?”
Cynthia and Sandra were huddled in a remote corner of the living room, having their own discussion.
“It’s so sad how he cheats on her. I don’t know why she puts up with it,” Cynthia observed.
“I guess she loves him enough to ignore the other women,” Sandra said in defense of her friend.
“All the other women he’s had affairs with are bad enough, but…” Cynthia stopped midsentence.
“But what?” Sandra inquired.
Cynthia looked over her shoulder to ensure the other guests at the party were preoccupied and said, “Let’s just say, I know for a fact that Hezekiah has recently expanded his horizons.”
Sandra led Cynthia into the foyer. “You know something, don’t you?” she inquired forcefully. “Spill it, girl. What’s he done now?”
“I don’t like to gossip, but I hate to see a wonderful woman like Samantha get hurt,” Cynthia replied sheepishly. “I found out, purely by accident, mind you, that Hezekiah is having an affair….” She paused, and then whispered quietly, “With a man this time.”
Sandra quickly covered her mouth to prevent a gasp from reverberating through the room. “Cynthia, you must be mistaken. Hezekiah is a lot of things but I don’t think he’s gay.”
“I know, girl. I was just as shocked as you are.”
On the last word Samantha walked up behind them. “There you two are. Why aren’t you circulating? I’ll be glad when this is over. I want to get this over with as soon as possible. What are you two talking about?”
Sandra was still in shock and could not respond, so Cynthia quickly interjected, “Sandra was telling me about the new case she’s working on.”