The last appointment was a late afternoon television interview to be taped for a local news magazine program. Outside in the roadway five placard-bearing protesters waited patiently. As the cars swept up to the entry boom gates, one rushed forward to wave, STRICKLAND WILL BURN IN HELL.
“How in the hell did they know I’d be here?” snapped Marla.
“Who cares?” said Gary. He punched the controls of the electric window. “Get a life!” he yelled.
Furious, Carol shoved him back against the seat. “You’ve been told not to open the windows. You just put Marla at risk by doing that.”
He wriggled under her restraining hand. “They’re just a bunch of assholes with signs…”
“One of them could have had a weapon.”
“Yeah, all right,” he said sulkily. “I’m sorry.”
Leaving Denise guarding the cars, Carol hurried Marla into the station. Gary grumbled as he trailed after them carrying Marla’s large makeup case, “Why do you insist on having your own makeup? Studios supply the same stuff…”
Carol would have cheerfully backhanded him, but Marla shrugged off his petulance. “I know what makes me look good, I can’t rely on any studio makeup artist getting the same effect.”
When the glossy executive assistant had taken them to makeup, Marla went to the washroom. While she was absent Carol snapped open the clips of the makeup kit and began to go through the contents. She didn’t really expect to find anything lethal, but she was curious to see if there was room to conceal a weapon. Gary watched her with a disdainful smile. “Think someone’s spiked the lipstick with contact poison?” he asked. “Or maybe the tube’s really a miniature grenade.”
She gave him a level look. “It’s not likely, because it wouldn’t be public enough.”
“What’s it matter, if they want to get Marla?”
“Wellspring wants the maximum publicity—something that will get national attention.”
“Yeah? As far as I’m concerned, it’d only be big news if it made the television networks in the States. Who cares what happens here?”
Carol looked at him thoughtfully. “You might have a point, Gary.”
He seemed disconcerted by her approval. “Oh, yeah?” He pushed back the hair flopping over his forehead. “You think so?”
“You’re keen to have your stepmother debate Dr. Lucas Britt, aren’t you?”
“I guess.” Her emphasis on his exact relationship with Marla irritated him, as she knew it would. “And they’ve never appeared together before?”
“So?”
“It’s my impression that in America Lucas Britt has as high a media profile as Marla, so I imagine television networks will show at least part of the debate.”
Marla swept in to catch her last words. “I should hope so! I want to nail him in front of the biggest audience possible.”
“Just so long as he doesn’t nail you,” said Gary.
* * *
The interviewer was a facile young man nattily dressed in a navy jacket, his very white teeth nicely contrasting with his deep tan. He’d done his homework, and seemed quite familiar with the main themes of Marla’s campaign, running over the range of questions he’d be asking without a single impatient explosion from his guest, who, Carol thought, could eat most interviewers for breakfast.
Even though he was thoroughly professional, Marla was edgy, tapping her fingernails against the black leather folder she always took with her for interviews. Curious, Carol had flicked through it before an earlier interview, and Marla had explained how she always liked to have statistics and tables with her so that she would always have back-up if challenged or if she needed to amplify a point. “It’s my security blanket,” she’d explained.
Rather than share studio space with Carol, Gary had disappeared into the control room, where she could see him lounging, bored, against the wall. She’d noticed that over the past days he’d become more belligerent towards his stepmother, and Carol wondered how long it would be before Marla slapped him down. He’s acting almost as though he won’t have to please Marla for much longer…
The interview went smoothly. Carol was adept at handling the media herself, and her admiration for Marla had grown as she’d realized what a skilled performer she was. Warm, confident, at ease with the camera, never avoiding difficult questions, she gave answers that steered the interviewer in the direction she wanted to go. Her energy crackled through the screen and gave her words weight.
When the interview was obviously winding up, she broke in to face the camera directly: “As you may have heard, Dr. Lucas Britt, who heads a cult in America—the Church of God’s Desire—is in Australia for a sudden, lightning tour that coincides with mine.” Her tone implied this was not an accident. “And he has issued what he calls a challenge—a nationally televised debate.” Her face was lit with an assured smile. “I’m delighted at last to have the opportunity, on The Shipley Report next Wednesday, to expose Dr. Britt’s religious anti-woman ideas for what they are—gibberish.”
* * *
When they returned to the hotel suite, Bev was waiting with an air of pleased accomplishment. “I contacted Madeline Shipley in Sydney and she arranged for her network station here to send over an unedited tape of Lucas Britt’s media conference.”
“Great.” Marla didn’t sound enthusiastic.
“You need to know everything he’s said in public, Marla. He’ll probably repeat half of it in the debate.”
“How did you know Marla had agreed to do it?”
Bev gave Carol a pitying look. “If you knew Marla like I do, you’d realize she never backs down from a challenge, especially when it involves a target like Britt and his fascist church.”
Smiling a little at Bev’s endorsement, Marla said to Carol, “Come and watch it with me, Carol, you might have some ideas about how to counter the bastard.” She raised her voice to call out, “And you too, Pam. You need to see this too.”
Carol watched Pam as she sidled through the doorway, her shoulders characteristically hunched. Are you really so awkward and introverted? Or are you playing—role and laughing at us all?
Denise followed Pam into the room. “I can tell you exactly what he’s going to say. All these fundamentalist sects use the same script.”
Bev waited until Marla had curled up on the end of the sofa. “Ready?”
The video began with the general confusion before the media conference began, then the hasty positioning of microphones as Dr. Britt settled himself into the chair behind the long table. Carol’s mind wandered: she’d already seen most of this on the morning newscast. She looked up as she registered that she was hearing something new.
“By their fruits ye shall know them,” Lucas Britt intoned. He managed an expression that successfully combined regret and outrage. “And Marla Strickland is constantly in the company of those who are an abomination before the Lord.” Pause for effect. “Women who love women…men who love men.”
“We’ll get the cast-into-hell bit next,” said Denise, who was sitting on the floor with her back against the sofa.
Solemnly, Britt continued, “They shall be judged and God will condemn them to the everlasting fires of hell.”
“Close!” laughed Denise, ignoring Bev’s frown at her interruption.
Pam Boyle looked down from her lounge chair. “Why does it amuse you to mock Dr. Britt? Many people believe what he says is true.”
“Do you?”
“Of course not, but he is an extraordinary person. I think it would be a mistake to underestimate him.”
“Yeah? He seems like a fairly standard bigot to me.”
“Yes, he would…” It was obvious that Denise’s lack of insight was no surprise to Pam.
“You can argue outside,” said Bev, turning up the volume, “Marla needs to hear this.”
Carol noticed that Marla seemed more interested in the conflict between Pam and Denise than the television screen.
Denise said challengingly, “Whatever else, you do believe what he says about homosexuality, don’t you, Pam?”
Her mouth tightened. “Yes, I do. I know that homosexuality is wrong. It’s not natural. But that’s my personal opinion, and I don’t imagine it worries you what I think.”
“It worries me that apparently intelligent people can be so judgmental about lifestyles that don’t match their own.”
Pam uncoiled herself from her chair. She glared down from her full height, her voice vibrating with anger as she said, “It’s disgusting and dirty.”
Denise smiled up at her. “You’re protesting so much, I’m beginning to wonder about you, Pam. If you’re attracted to women, don’t fight it. You’ll find it’s fun.”
* * *
Later, while Marla was at the bar making herself a vodka and tonic and Carol was sipping mineral water, Carol said obliquely, “Gary didn’t seem very happy today…”
Marla poured a slug of Smirnoff into a tall glass. “You mean, why do I put up with him being a rude horse’s ass, don’t you?”
“Why do you?”
She added tonic to her glass and slid onto the bar stool next to Carol. “I understand why he’s acting that way, so most of the time I just ignore it.”
Carol raised an eyebrow, but made no comment. Marla looked at her sideways with a small smile. “You’re thinking how uncharacteristically sweet-natured I am? But you haven’t seen Gary with his father. Roy expected his son to follow in his footsteps and become a doctor. When Gary flunked medical school, Roy didn’t bother to hide his disappointment, and when Gary didn’t come up with some other acceptable career option, my husband virtually washed his hands of him.” She took a long swallow of her drink. “Gary isn’t very mature and he idolizes his father, so of course he resents being packed off with me to fetch and carry. In his position I’d probably feel the same.”
Carol gave a noncommittal, “Hmmm…” Does Gary resent you enough to wish you harm?
“Anything new on Wellspring?” said Marla, closing the topic of her stepson.
“No, but I have this feeling that Wellspring has a connection to the United States.”
“You could be right—Lucas Britt turning up out of the blue seems more than a coincidence.”
Carol looked into her glass, wishing it contained whiskey. “We’ve had briefings from both the FBI and the CIA. Britt looks clean and so does his organization. Extremely right of center, true, but innocent of wrongdoing. And I don’t believe a word of it.”
Marla rubbed her eyes. “I just want to get through this tour…”
“How long has Pam Boyle been with you?”
“I don’t know…a year? She was big in direct mail campaigns when I recruited her, and she’s really built up the Strickland Enterprises contributors.”
“So what do you know about her?”
“Know?” Marla was obviously annoyed. “All I need to know—she’s a dedicated feminist.”
“And Bev Diaz.”
“She’s been with me for two years. I don’t know how I coped without her management skills.”
“She told you she was an alcoholic?”
Maria’s mouth turned down. “Bev told me she was a recovered alcoholic. I don’t see why you’re hounding her about this—it’s a disease, Carol, not a moral failing.” She gestured impatiently. “You’ll be asking me about Gary next.”
“Actually, I was intending to—”
“Don’t bother!” Marla snapped. “Whoever Wellspring might be, it’s outside my organization.”
“I’m sure you’re right, but maybe you have…” Carol paused, not sure of the word.
“What?”
“…a fellow traveler,” said Carol.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marla said, finishing her drink as she had finished the subject.
* * *
Anne came up to relieve Carol for the evening. “Before you go, I’d like to tell you something.”
Carol paused, intrigued by Anne’s obvious unease. Anne cleared her throat. “It’s about Sid…”
“He’s told you I said something to him. I’m sorry, Anne. As he pointed out, it’s none of my business.”
“Actually, I wish you’d said something to me.” She rubbed her cheeks. “This is so embarrassing. I’ve been so stupid.”
Wanting to help her, Carol said, “Forget it. It’s nothing to do with me.”
“No, I need to tell you. And it is something to do with you. Sid told me he was separated from his wife, but I began to wonder if that was true. Today, when I asked him pointblank, he was furious. He said he knew you’d told me to ask. When I said that wasn’t the case, he…” She gave a helpless gesture.
Carol wondered for one angry moment if Sid had hit her, but Anne seemed more shamefaced than distressed. “Sid did what?” she asked.
“He said, to quote him, that you were a bloody dyke who hated men. Then he told me to look out, or you’d put the hard word on me.”
Controlling her rage, Carol said, “What did you say?”
Anne gave a small smile. “I told him where he got off…And that I couldn’t imagine how I’d ever been dumb enough to think he was attractive.”
“Thanks for telling me.”
“I thought you should know he might be saying things behind your back.”
“I’ll deal with it, Anne, but we’re not going to mention it again, okay?”
That smug bastard, she seethed.