“Do you think you’re Jesus Christ?” I asked in perfectly feigned sincerity. I had decided that this conversation was too far out for even my tastes. My readers would be in turmoil. Half of them would be in religious ecstasy, and the other half would be laughing hysterically. I had to bring us back to reality. I mean, what’s a reporter to do? Does she keep on humoring this man, or does she try to get a publishable story out of the situation?
“No, but at one time I wished I was Superman and could fly backwards around the planet and go back in time” he replied with a small smile. “I never did accomplish that feat. That was a long time ago, though, back even before I realized I had special abilities that nobody else had.”
“Just let me get this straight” I said skeptically. “You want me to believe that you have the power of healing; that you can heal anyone of any malady merely by touching them? Forgive me, but I just can’t buy that. I’ve seen a lot of faith healers pass by, and every one of them was a charlatan. I think you’re just another snake-charming, bible-toting flim-flam holy man.” I think I had decided at this point that I just didn’t want the story. I half hoped he would get mad and walk out.
“You don’t have to take my word for it” he answered, non-plussed. “Just ask anybody I’ve healed. Have you actually been to any of the services? Why don’t you come tonight, and interview some of my, uh, clients. And I’m certainly no bible-toter. I just use the services to ply my trade, so to speak. I’ve been called many things, but the word ‘holy’ has never been used. I will admit that the phrase ‘flim-flam’ has been used on occasion, although unjustly.”
“You realize, don’t you, that by ‘plying your trade’ at a tent-show revival service, you sacrifice any remaining credibility you have?” I said. “Those poor people who show up looking for miracles may be fooled, but any sensible person knows that…”
“Please, Ms. Johnson, let’s not fight”, he interrupted. “I only ask that you go see with your own eyes what happens when I heal. Is that so much to ask? I guarantee that, no matter whether you lose your skepticism, you will get an interesting story. Isn’t that what you’re here for?”
I couldn’t disagree. I have to admit, I was somewhat curious. If only to see in person how he perpetrated his illusions, to see if I could spot the sleight-of-hand, to see if I could spot the plants in the audience before he called them up on stage to miraculously take away their crutches and make them see again.
“Alright, Mr. Delaney, I’ll come to your service tonight” I relented. “Don’t expect me to change my mind, though. I come from a long line of cynics.”
“I expect that a measure of cynicism is a necessary trait in your line of work”, he said. “Nevertheless, even a cynic can be convinced by a sufficient amount of direct evidence. My expectations are, therefore, that once you see me in action you will change your mind.”
“I’ve gotten that line so many times it doesn’t mean a damn thing to me”, I retorted. “See you tonight, Mr. Delaney.” With that, I got up and walked out, taking my cynicism, and my bag of toys, with me. I went back home to change. If I was going to church tonight, I figured I ought to get into my Sunday best, even if it was only Saturday night. I grabbed a couple of Tylenols. I felt the edges of a headache coming on. I hoped that’s all it was; I didn’t have time for one of my migraines, not tonight.
That was my first encounter with Danny Delaney, healer extraordinaire. It was not to be my last. Far from it.
I suppose I should explain myself. I am Sandi Johnson, star reporter for ‘Living in the South’ magazine. It’s amazing some of the things I’ll do for a story. I once went to a church in rural south-western Virginia where they handled snakes during the service. I got to hold a big one, and I wasn’t the least bit afraid, until they told me it was a water moccasin. I calmly handed it back to the preacher, walked to the women’s room, and threw up. I once rode in the back seat of an F-14 and landed on a carrier at night, another vomitous occasion. But the longest day I ever had was when I served as the Master of Ceremonies at the Charlotte Thanksgiving Day parade. I saw enough baton twirlers and Shriners in little cars to last a lifetime.
So I figured I could handle going to the First Church of the Modern-Day Revival at the flea market on the edge of town and spending a night watching the freak show. Like I said, anything for a story. In my line of work, you constantly have to outdo yourself. If I didn’t keep up, I’d be out on my ass and relegated to some office job, filing my nails, waiting for the Assistant V.P. in charge of Toilet Cleaning to make my day by coming on to me. That’s not my thing, believe me. I’ve got bigger goals in life. I’ve been writing for most of my forty two years, and I don’t intend to ruin it by having to work an honest job. So, yeah, I could listen to a little preaching, a little holy-rolling, if it meant coming up with something my readers might shell out their hard-earned bucks to read.
I had heard about Danny Delaney from a friend. Now I have to admit I have some wacky friends, and Sheila is the Queen of Wack. She’s into Pyramid Power, and Magical Magnet healing, and she studies ‘The One Way’ and regularly has One-Wayer friends over for study groups. Sheila is one of those people who follow any ridiculous fashion she encounters, as long as it is far-fetched, trendy, mysterious and flies in the face of all rationality. Don’t get me wrong. Sheila has a heart of gold, and you couldn’t ask for a better or wiser friend when you need to unwind and talk to someone. I love her to bits, even when she’s at her wackiest.
She told me that there was this man who could work miracles, and that he was a regular subject of conversation in the IM groups and Internet forums she followed. He was creating quite a sensation in her circles. I myself had never heard of him. I figured he was just another guru she was latching on to. Some people have a need for a spiritual guide. I don’t. Whenever I start asking myself the eternal questions about the meaning of life, I quickly grab a shot of scotch, go out and chase down a story, and let the feeling pass. My church is the Holy Church of the True Path of Least Resistance. The closest thing I have to a spiritual guide is my dog, Jamie, a Rotweiler with an acute sense of all things spiritual. I can say anything to Jamie, and he’ll look up to heaven, as if beseeching God to bring wisdom down to his misguided master, and then he’ll fart and lick his behind. That’s Jamie’s answer to all of the deep questions in life. It seems to me an excellent attitude, and I follow his example, although omitting the farts and the butt-licking.
At any rate, it was Sheila who told me about Danny Delaney and his traveling road show. She had a friend who had a cousin who had been blind since birth, and Delaney restored his sight merely by touching him. She had another friend whose wife’s arthritis was cured, and another whose acne cleared after one session with the Master. I was skeptical; I had met some of those friends. But I was intrigued as well. I thought there might be a story in this. Something my readers would enjoy, a short slice of Americana to read as they’re sitting in the Dentist’s office waiting to be drilled.
I pitched the idea to Harvey, the editor-in-chief at “Living in the South”. Harvey is a pretty good guy, for a bastard. He automatically disagrees with anything I say. Over the years, I’ve learned how to deal with him. I pitch an idea to him. He tells me how perfectly dreadful that idea is. He rants and raves and comes up with a thousand reasons why it cannot possibly work. I sit back peacefully and let him have his head. I wait until I hear the key word – ‘unless’. When I hear that key word, I know I’ve got it made. He always has to get his input into the plan. It cannot possibly work, unless… And then he advances some condition, some off-the-wall suggestion. It’s his way of buying into credit for the idea. Once the story is published, he can then go to his cronies and say how “we” had this idea, “we” worked it all out together, “we” knocked it in to shape. Sometimes he’ll go so far as to claim credit for the idea entirely. Never to my face, of course. But I have some friends in the office who have heard him boasting about his ideas, ideas he got from me. I don’t really care. It’s not about some bastard taking credit for my work. That’s an unfortunate fact of life. It’s about the story. It’s about the writing. It’s about not having to lead some hum-drum life sitting at a desk typing up memos all your life.
If I hear the key word, I always get to do the story. And I always get the story. This occasion was no exception. Harvey’s input into the idea was particularly simple-minded, even for him. “It won’t work unless we pique the reader’s curiosity with human interest, interview his marks, and get them to tell their tales.” Well, duh. I learned that when I was in high school, writing for the gossip sheet newsletter they put out. I didn’t tell him that. I had heard the key word; I knew I had the story. I just nodded and said, “Yeah, good idea, Harvey.” He told me “Okay, get on it. Get the interviews, get the background. I’ll think about it some more and let you know what I think.” I knew he would promptly forget about it, leaving it all to me. That’s what I wanted.
So, I set about trying to get in touch with Danny Delaney. Not so easy to do. He’s a difficult man to get in touch with. He works in a traveling revivalist tent show. You can’t just look him up in the yellow pages. I sicced Sheila on the job. I figured she had a friend or two she could call and get a phone number. Sheila is good at that kind of thing. Within half an hour, I had three phone numbers to call. Every one of them was voice mail, and I left messages. I made sure to mention that this was for a magazine interview. I did a little research. Then, I sat back, picked up the newspaper, and rested from my labors.
A couple of hours went by before I got a phone call. It was “Sue”, returning my call on Danny Delaney’s behalf. Sue had a voice which reminded me of Bernadette Peters, all high pitched and squealy. She told me Mr. Delaney would be more than happy to talk to me, could I come to the Java Jive coffee shop over on Maynard at 3:30? I told her sure, I knew the place, bid her a pleasant adieu, and hung up. I packed up the tools of my trade into my bag – laptop, recorder, notebook, camera, PDA, can of mace, tazer stun gun, and revolver. In my line of work, it pays to be prepared. I arrived in due course at the appointed place, exactly on time.
There was nobody inside except the coffee jerk. There was one man, a CPA, seated at a table outside. It couldn’t be Delaney. These celebrity preachers are always dressed immaculately, and have steely grey hair coiffed to magnificence. They are always tall men, with large hands, and expensive watches on their wrists. This guy looked like Don Knotts, dressed in a tee-shirt and jeans. Definitely not the celebrity preacher type. I looked around, trying to spot the limousine he would fly in on.
“Excuse me, Ms. Johnson?” the guy said. I turned to the CPA. Yep, Barney Fife all the way. Mid to late thirties. Short, thin, a saggy face. A good head of hair, though. I sighed, sat down next to him, and got out my recorder and PDA, without saying a word. Once I was ready, I turned the coolest gaze I could conjure his way. He was just sitting there, smiling a little smile, matching my cool with his own. That smile seemed to say so much, like he was secretly amused by this whole affair. It also encompassed a little sadness. And yet it was really a calm, cool, friendly smile as well. He no longer seemed quite so Barney-ish. It could have been the way he matched my silence with his own. We could have sat there for an hour, each trying to out-cool the other. But I had work to do.
“Well, shall we begin, Mr. Delaney?” I began.
“Please, call me Danny” he said.
Yeah, right, and call me Andy Taylor. “Mr. Delaney, I understand that you are a preacher for the First Church of the Modern Day Revival, and that you travel in their tent-show.”
“I am not a preacher, Ms. Johnson. The Reverend Steven Dashiel handles the religious end of things. He’s the spiritual leader; I’m just a guest in his show.”
“Oh, okay, a guest, whatever. Now, I’m a little confused about all of the rumors I’ve heard. You do the faith healing end of the act, is that correct?”
His face showed a loss of cool for a moment, the smile flickered away and then came back. It was almost too quick to catch, but I make my living observing such things in other people. Score one for me. I resisted licking my finger and tallying an imaginary point for the good guys.
“I am not a preacher, and I am not a faith healer, either”, he said. “I am a true healer. I’ve been a healer all of my adult life, and much of my teen years as well. Faith has nothing to do with it. I could not care less what the people I heal believe in. They could be devil worshippers for all I care.”
This was a twist, but I figured he figured a mark is a mark. As long as they laid their money down, they got their show. He didn’t care if they loved Jesus or not, as long as they paid their way. The fact that he made his living in a revivalist church setting made the odds quite good that he didn’t get many devil worshippers. And the clientele at these revivals was always ripe for a smart huckster. It was the nature of the game. You didn’t make many shekels playing faith healer at a bar or a ballgame. The wrong kind of marks showed up there.
“Listen, I don’t have much time”, I said, glancing at my watch theatrically. “Let’s not mince words and debate definitions. We both know what you are. You’re a two-bit con-man and you cheat people out of their money for a living. That’s pretty much what I do for a living as well, only with what I do, the people at least get some value for their money. I’ve been around. I know a con when I see one. So let’s cut the bullshit, okay, Danny?” I said his name with the slightest trace of contempt in my voice.
“Perhaps given the setting in which I conduct my business, you are justified in treating me with suspicion” he said, as if I hadn’t just called him down and questioned his humanity. “I assure you, I am no fake. I am not a crook. I heal people. I do it because it is a gift, and if I earn a little money to live on, I feel I’ve earned it. I spent many years questioning myself, after I discovered my gift. It was only after a long time of soul searching that I felt comfortable in sharing that gift, and an even longer time before I felt comfortable accepting money for what I do. A man has to eat. I started out believing that God gave me this gift, and that God wanted me to share it with everyone I could. Now, I don’t believe in God anymore, but the gift is still there, and I still feel compelled to share it. What I do is as much a part of who I am as your career is a part of you.”
Now, I’ve pretty much brought you up to date. We’re to the point where I asked him if he thought he was Jesus. Just trying to get his goat, to see if I could make him lose that smile again. He didn’t. He invited me to his show. I needed to go anyway; since I had to do the human interest and the background for the story. I could see him in action. So, I agreed, and here I was, on my way to church for the first time since, well, since my preacher taught me what it was to be a woman, oh so long ago. Right after that, I stopped going to church. I don’t really count the time I visited the snake handlers, as I was there on a professional basis.
The tent show was on the site of the flea market. On most weekends, when the tent show wasn’t in town, the battered old pickup trucks loaded with junk would converge in droves. I had gone once, looking for some priceless artifact that would be hidden amongst the broken rocking chairs, hub cap collections, glassware, cookware, rusted garden tools, and assorted unidentifiable junk that was being given one more chance before consignment to the junk heap. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, and I didn’t find it. The “vendors” would pay $10.00 for a spot to set their tables in the market, and would spend the day trying to break even. Some didn’t even use tables; they just sold their junk straight from the back of their pickup. There didn’t appear to be much commerce going on when I was there. I didn’t see why these people kept coming. Maybe it was like yard saling, you had to get there an hour before the announced opening time in order to get the good deals.
On days that the tent show was in town, the flea market still went on in the morning and afternoon. The tent was put up in the early afternoon, and the bargain hunters would just work around the tent workers, and vice versa. The flea marketers had considerably more business on those days, but there was less room because of the evening’s show. So there was considerable competition for market spots on those days. The pickup trucks would line up early, waiting for a spot. I passed by frequently on Saturday mornings on my way to work. I always got frustrated by the traffic going in and out of the flea market lot. Tent show days were the worst.
I got there at about 6:45 P.M., and the junk sellers had mostly closed up shop, making room for parking for the evening worshipers. The service didn’t start until 7:30, but the lot was already close to capacity. There were people tailgating in the dusty parking lot, and fragrant smells of barbecue wafted across as I finally found a parking spot at just about the farthest point available. I wandered through the crowd. There were still a few merchants, selling grilled polish sausage subs from the back of their pickup. There was a group of well-dressed church-goers huddled around the open back of a Suburban, passing around a suspicious looking jug. There was a group seated at a card table, playing bridge. There were kids everywhere, running around, over, under, and through groups of adults. There was city folk, country folk, rich folk, poor folk, old folks, youngsters, hippies, hoboes, gypsies, and even one Pakistani leading an ostrich around on a leash.
I killed a little time watching some jugglers. They were pretty good. I listened to a dirty looking long-haired man reading scripture in a dramatic voice. He would read a little, then preach a little. Every now and then he would pause, wipe his nose on his sleeve, and take a sip from a bottle wrapped in a paper bag. There was a man walking around in a full suit of armor, with a huge sword hanging in a scabbard from his belt. There was a choral group, singing old timey hymns, with a fiddle and banjo as backup. This was almost as good as the County Fair, and not nearly as expensive. I wandered over to the tent and went in.
There was another choral group up on the stage, singing gospel and charging up the arriving crowd. The tent was quite large. I guessed it could hold maybe three hundred people. It was already half full. I grabbed an aisle seat in the back. The music was loud and infectious. People were up and dancing, or seated and swaying. I noticed a few people holding a hand up in that curious gesture I’ve noticed in religious gatherings. The hand would be held up, palm toward the music, and the head would be down, eyes closed, and the body gently swaying. Maybe they were praying. Or maybe they were absorbing the charged spiritual energy from the performers through their palms. I don’t know. I’ve always felt that church would be a wonderful and fun event, were it not for the fact that everything and everybody was just so damned holy.
The place was now full. The music stopped. The lights illuminating the seats went dim, and spotlights intensified on the stage. The crowd noises hushed to a whisper. One of the gospel singers, a huge man in a suit, stepped up to the microphone. His beautiful bass voice rang out over the P.A. system. “And now, folks, the moment you’ve been waiting for. Please take your seats. Here he is, the man of the hour. Please give a warm welcome for Reverend Steve!” He drew out his last words, sounding like Vince McMahon announcing the latest Pro Wrestling wonder boy. The crowd erupted, cheering and clapping and hooting and hollering and stamping.
The spotlight moved to stage right, and the Reverend Steve entered. Now this guy was a celebrity preacher, there was no doubt about that. His silver hair was piled so high on his head it almost looked alive. He had on a dark silk suit, with sparkles that glistened in the spotlight. He held his arms above his head as he walked solemnly to the microphone. He had rings on every finger, with large blue, red, and green stones reflecting the light. He had his obligatory Piaget watch with gold band. He stood at the microphone for a few seconds, as the crowd continued its applause. He smiled, and I swear his teeth were so white they practically glowed. He gestured for silence, and still the crowd cheered. This went on for a good three minutes. The noise finally abated somewhat.
“I thank y’all for coming tonight” he started. More thunderous applause, more waiting for the crowd to simmer down. “I think we got us some live ones, tonight”. A woman up front screamed something unintelligible, and there was some laughter from the crowd. He smiled that radioactive smile of his again.
“That’s what I like, enthusiasm”. He had a down to earth southern accent and a sonorous voice that was accentuated by the echoes from the P.A. system. “That’s what I like, passion, conviction, and spirit!”
Just like that he was off at a mile-a-minute, his voice acquiring that TV-preacher sing-song quality. There were occasional pauses, punctuated by “Amens” and “Hallelujahs” and “Praise the Lord”s from the audience. I’m sure you’ve seen it a million times, flipping through the TV channels on a Sunday afternoon and stopping for a quick peek on the religious channel. The man was good, I’ll give him that. He had that crowd in the palms of his hands. They were eating up every last word. Every so often he would make a point, and he would bob up on his ankles, giving his words a particular accent. He would point his index finger to make another point, start wiggling it, and his whole body would give a wiggle, as if the power of what he had to say took over his voluntary movements. His sermon had a rhythm to it. One minute he would be screaming out to the crowd, and his amplified voice would reverberate across the tent. The next moment, he would soften his voice to one decibel just above intelligibility. It was masterful.
I’m not even sure what he spoke about. That almost seemed beside the point. I was mesmerized by his presentation. There were plenty of stock phrases, like taking Jesus into your heart, and being born again, and resisting temptation; and stock words like righteousness and faith and sin and redemption. There were little sermonettes, and anecdotes, and jokes, and parables, and warnings. That kind of speech washes over me; it just doesn’t stick; my mind wanders. I found myself thinking about the story I was going to write. He was almost whispering, and then all of a sudden he raised his voice and my attention was pulled back toward him like a magnet. The woman next to me was crying, she was so moved.
At one point, I glanced across the crowd, and saw a familiar face. I had interviewed that woman, what was her name, oh yes, Mona Peterson. She had a daughter with Duchenne muscular dystrophy. Michele Peterson had been the poster child for the state Muscular Dystrophy Association a couple of years ago, which was how I came to be interviewing them. I just knew Mona had brought her thirteen year old daughter here to be healed. She would be in for quite a disappointment. Michele would be fine. I had never seen such a beacon of optimism as I had seen in that child. But the mother would be devastated when Michele wasn’t healed. Mona turned my way, stared for a second without recognition, and then suddenly smiled and waved. She pointed down to her daughter sitting in a wheel chair in the aisle beside her. They both waved to me, and I waved back.
Reverend Steve had reached a crescendo, and then quietly, slowly, closed his sermon. Sweat was pouring down his face. He bowed his head and asked for prayer. Up until that time, the show had been a pandemonium of noise. But when he called his flock to prayer, there was absolute silence. He said a quick prayer, paused a few calculated seconds, and then called for the offering. Ushers came down the aisles, carrying large baskets to collect money from the audience.
“Friends, when the basket comes your way, take a little if you need it, put in a little if you can spare it, but whatever you do, praise God as you’re doing it”. Funny, not one person in my aisle made a withdrawal; they all deposited. I popped in a five dollar bill as the basket passed by me. I noticed quite a few twenties, and a couple of hundreds. It looked like they were raking it in tonight. A good crowd.
There was a short pause in the festivities, an intermission so to speak. The singers started into a hymn. A man came up to me and handed me a piece of paper. It was from Delaney, asking me to come backstage after the service. The man was still standing there. I nodded to him, and folded the piece of paper and put it into my bag. The man nodded back, and then left.
Mona Peterson came over to say hi. We chatted for a few minutes. Sure enough, Mona had brought Michele here for healing. I just smiled. There was nothing I could do or say to prevent the disappointment that was coming, so I just kept my mouth shut. Mona went on and on about all she had heard about Danny Delaney. His reputation had spread far and wide. Everybody knew somebody who had been healed by Delaney. She told me she had not seen me here before. Was I a believer? What church did I regularly go to? I told her I was a member of the Holy Church of the True Path of Least Resistance, Reverend Jamie presiding. The conversation was mercifully cut short as the Reverend Steve came back on stage to a resounding roar from the audience. Mona said so long and went back to her seat.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, a special moment has come”. There was an anticipatory stirring in the audience. They knew what was coming. “In a few minutes, I’m going to bring out a very special man, a man to whom God has given an amazing gift, and he’s going to share that gift with you!” He shouted that last word, and the crowd loved it. They were stirring like a hive of angry hornets. He suspended that tension, talking about the amazing Mr. Delaney, about his discovery of his healing powers as a teenager, about how he had dedicated himself to helping others. He talked about how accepting God into his life had changed him, just like accepting God into your lives could change you. I sighed, knowing that God had no place whatsoever in Delaney’s life at the present time, except as a way for him to earn a living. “And now, folks, without further ado, I bring you, Danny Delaney!” Again, like announcing a wrestler. Like Ed McMahon announcing Johnny Carson. He-e-e-e-e-r-e-s-s-s-s Dannny! Again, the crowd roared to life.
Delaney came onto the stage. He was transformed. No longer Barney Fife. He seemed six inches taller. It’s amazing what a little makeup will do. I made a mental note to speak to his hairdresser after the show. I do a pretty good job with my own makeup, but I could always use a few pointers from a professional. Whoever did Delaney’s makeup was an artist, a true master. It took a master to transform Barney Fife into Mel Gibson.
Delaney came on, waving to the adoring crowd. He went directly to center stage in front of the microphone. Apparently, Reverend Steve would do the commentary as Delaney did the healing. There was already a crowd lining up at the stairs leading to the stage. I could see Mona pushing Michele’s wheelchair down the aisle to get in line. As Reverend Steve barked to the crowd, the people in line were busy filling out information cards. There were a couple of runners, constantly going back and forth between the stage stairs to the microphone, carrying the information cards so Steve could announce the next lucky contestant.
“And, first, we have Mrs. Harriet Feldman of Pittsboro, who has suffered from arthritis for many years. Step on up, Mrs. Feldman, and be well again!” She came up on the stage, her hand on the runner’s arm, slowly and apparently in great pain. He brought her to a stop in front of Delaney. Delaney said a few words to her, and she nodded. He put his hand to her forehead, paused for a second, and then gave a strong push. She fell back as if in shock, and was caught by the runner waiting there to catch her. “The Lord’s power is mighty strong, folks.” She took a moment to recover, shook her head, and skipped down the stage and down the stairs on the other side. She actually skipped! Give me a break, she skipped! “Praise the Lord! Next, we have Mr. Kenny Earl Howard, of Greenville…”
This went on for quite a while. There were quite a few sick people there that night. Delaney had been here before, you’d think that there wouldn’t be anyone left, but they just kept coming. The crowd was noisy and cheered as each healing took place. Finally, it was Michele’s turn. I couldn’t bear to watch, but I had to. She came up the handicapped access ramp, being pushed by Mona. They came to a stop before Delaney. He said a few words to Mona. She nodded. He said a few more to Michele, and she nodded. He reached out to Michele, put his hand on her forehead, and pushed. The wheelchair backed up a few inches. Michele looked stunned. Steve was already announcing the next mark. Mona started wheeling Michele across the stage. Both had somewhat disappointed looks on their faces. My heart went out to that poor little girl.
At that moment, Michele reached down and stopped the wheels of her chair. The crowd went silent. Michelle pushed herself up from her wheelchair with her arms, up into a shaky standing position. The runners were around her, ready to catch her. She took a few halting steps away from the wheelchair. Her face was wrenched in concentration. The woman beside me was whispering to her, “come on, baby, come on, you can do it”. Michelle took another few steps, and then turned toward the audience. She gave a huge smile as she stood there, on her own, standing for the first time in years.
The crowd erupted. I thought it was noisy when Steve was giving his sermon. I thought it was noisy the time I went to the Super Bowl in New Orleans. I thought it was noisy when I sat in the back seat of that F-14. That was nothing compared to this. Everyone in the audience was on their feet, cheering and shouting. The woman next to me fainted, slouching back into her seat and mouthing words nobody could hear. People were dancing on their seats. Michele just stood there, beaming at the audience. Mona was still standing behind the wheelchair, her hands raised in prayer. Finally, Michelle started wavering, and the runners were right there to catch her and half carry her back to the wheelchair. She still had that beautiful smile on her face. Mona was crying, unable to handle the wheelchair. The runners helped wheel the chair down the ramp and off the chair, and the roar from the crowd continued unabated.
I was absolutely stunned. I had spent several days with this girl. I had gotten her story, her background. I had done some research on that human malady called muscular dystrophy. I knew this could not be happening. I knew that the doctors had told her she would never walk again. And yet, she had just done so. I thought about the stories you hear about the power of faith. Those stories seemed hollow compared to what I had just witnessed. The word “miracle” seemed the only way to describe what had just happened. But my cynicism wouldn’t allow me to accept that word. There had to be an explanation, a rational reason for this event.
I looked up at the stage. The healing had stopped as the drama unfolded. Delaney was standing there on the stage, watching as Michelle and Mona were escorted back to their seats. He had that smile again, that mysterious smile that said so many different things. Reverend Steve was silent for a change. He actually looked dumbfounded. He recovered quickly and the show went on, his voice hoarse by now. I stopped paying attention, lost in my own thoughts. The healing finally stopped, although there were still people in line waiting. “Come on back next time we’re here, folks.” Delaney stepped back next to the singers. Another few words from Steve, another round of offering. The baskets were even fuller this time. Reverend Steve wrapped things up, and then joined in as the choral group went through a sing-along. Then it was over.
The crowd started filing out, still edgy and energized. I sat in my seat, trying to come up with an explanation. Mona and Michele came up to my seat, Mona still crying in joy and Michele still in her wheelchair, still sporting a big smile. We exchanged a few pleasantries, I endured their hallelujahs, and then they left. Tonight’s events did not fit my world view. I had spent forty two years developing a healthy cynicism about life in general and about religion in particular. Before now, nothing I had ever seen had led me to believe in a loving and healing God. I wasn’t about to start believing now. I would rather believe that Michele wasn’t quite as sick as I had been led to believe. I had seen it in others. People feigned or exaggerated illness all of the time, for one reason or another. Some did it out of some inner compulsion. Some did it in the mistaken belief that they would receive love and compassion. Some did it out of pure spite, in order to spread their wretchedness out to all of humanity. Some tricked themselves into being sick, a sinister form of self-hypnosis. I had seen it all.
I interrupted myself out of my soul searching. It was time to go face Delaney, to find out what this was all about. My headache was coming back. I would have to do this quickly, then hurry home and knock myself out with some Ambien before my migraine hit full force.
It turned out that backstage meant Delaney’s trailer. The same man who had given me the note escorted me to the trailer. There was a crowd milling around inside, some roadies with the crew, and some groupies from the audience. There was a cooler full of ice and beer, and someone offered me one as I entered. I politely declined; I never drink when I’m working. There was a joint being passed around, which I also refused. Now, if there had been a bottle of scotch, that’s a different story. That’s not drinking, that’s just relaxing. The roadies were mostly young men. The groupies were young women, teens or fresh into their twenties.
Delaney was at his dresser, removing his makeup. He had a cigarette smoldering in an ashtray as he worked, and he occasionally took a long draw from it. He had an open can of beer which he also occasionally sipped from. Not a particularly wholesome atmosphere for a holy man, but I wasn’t surprised. As he worked, I watched him transform back into his real self. I realized that the makeup hid big, dark bags under his eyes. Those bags gave him a look that made me think of Barney, but as I got a second look at him I rejected that idea. He just looked like an ordinary man who was very, very tired. He was thin, accentuating the impression of fatigue. A little meat on his bones would do wonders for his looks. I looked at his shoes. Just as I suspected, they were elevated.
A young, slim, shapely blond came up and introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Sue, we talked on the phone”. That voice again, it could break glass. I wondered about her relationship with Delaney. Was it strictly professional? These people are all alike; they think the Ten Commandments are for everyone else. I looked her up and down. Cute young face. Impossibly perky breasts. Not bad. No wonder Delaney looked tired. Just wait until you hit forty, sister. We’ll see how firm those breasts are then.
“How ya’ doing, Sue, glad to finally meet you”. I thought about asking her if those things were real. I’m not at my best at this hour of the evening. I held my tongue. It has gotten me into so much trouble in the past. I was saved when one of the roadies called her away and she excused herself.
Delaney turned to me. “Glad you could make it, Ms. Johnson. What did you think of the service?” He stuck out his hand and shook mine as he said this. His handshake was light but enthusiastic.
“It was quite interesting, although a bit on the longish side.” I gave a small yawn to accentuate my point. Actually, it was only 11:00. The night was still young.
“Well, we try to keep it under three hours, the people just can’t sit still for longer than that. Grab a seat, Ms. Johnson.”
“Please drop the Ms. Johnson bit”, I asked as I slid into a chair. “I hate that Ms. bullshit, it sounds so fake. And when someone uses my last name, it makes me feel old. So please call me Sandi”.
“And please call me Danny.”
Okay, truce, Danny. We were now on a first name basis. I reached down into my bag and turned on my recorder.
“I thought that young lady in the wheel chair was a poignant moment, didn’t you?” he asked. He knew he had scored with that.
“Yes, it was very poignant. I happen to know that young lady. She has advanced Duchenne muscular dystrophy. She has been in a wheelchair for several years. She was told she would never walk again. She could hardly move her wheelchair with her arms. I’d like to know how you did that.”
“I’ve already told you, Sandi. I’m a true healer. I know you don’t believe in that ‘power of faith’ crap. Neither do I. How else can you explain what happened?” The joint came his way, and he took a long pull on it. He offered it to me, and I shook my head. He passed it on to someone else.
I advanced my theory. “That she was not as ill as she has led people to believe. That she still has the ability to stand and walk, although she’s fooled everybody, maybe even herself, into thinking otherwise.” The more I thought about it, the more likely an explanation it became.
He blew out the smoke from the joint. “Come on, do you think an eleven year old would be capable of such a thing?”
“Thirteen. She’s thirteen. I don’t know, Danny, the mind is an amazingly complex thing.”
“Why do you have to invent an intricate and hypothetical dance around the truth? Use that sharp mind of yours. Why build a façade to protect your preconceptions? Use Occam’s Razor. Take the simplest explanation.”
“Your explanation flies in the face of everything I’ve known and learned. God does not bring down messiahs from on high. At least not in the last two thousand years. I just cannot accept that you are some kind of angel from heaven.”
“I don’t accept that either.” He changed the subject. “You must be very dedicated, to be working such long hours, and on a Saturday to boot. What does Mr. Sandi Johnson have to say about that?”
“He is probably crying into his beer even as we speak. Not that tonight has anything to do with it. He does that every night. I’m divorced, Danny. I got tired of coming home to a drunk.”
“A man like that doesn’t deserve a woman like you.”
Was he trying to come on to me? Honestly, I was old enough to be his…his big sister. Don’t get me wrong, I’m over forty, but I’ve still got it. Most of it, anyway. I may be spreading out just a little, but I get my exercise and try to keep in shape. I don’t date much. I refuse to date any man who is not at least as smart as I am, so that eliminates 98% of the male population right there. Besides, I’m too busy with work to think much about men. Still, I was a little flattered.
“Let’s keep it professional, shall we?” I said, just a little nervously, I thought.
“Both of my parents were alcoholics”, he said. “They were abusive to each other, but each tried to protect me from the other. I know what it’s like to deal with a drunk.” He said that as he was popping a fresh beer for himself. He offered me one, and again I refused. I thought he was more than a little drunk, and stoned, himself. I could detect a slight slur in his voice.
“How would you like to go on the road with me?” he asked. This man was full of surprises. “You could get a great story; get all the background and human interest you could ask for. Interview all the people we encounter on our travels. Learn my tale of woe.”
He was definitely coming on to me. I was tempted, but I decided to ignore his entreaties. That’s all I needed, another drunk in my life. “Let’s go back to those larger questions in life. You said that the simplest explanation was that you are truly a healer. I don’t buy that. It’s not a simple explanation. It’s a tremendously complicated one. It implies that God has a hand in mankind’s affairs, and that’s an extremely complex issue. It…”
“God has nothing to do with it”, he interrupted angrily. “I never said anything about God. It truly is a simple matter. I am a healer. I was born with this ability, or curse as I sometimes think of it. Just like that young lady was born with M.D. It’s genetics. It’s an accident of birth. It’s not God reaching down and infusing someone with His magic touch. Looked at from that perspective, it’s not hard to accept at all. Michael Jordan was born with an amazing ability to handle a basketball. Einstein was born with an amazing ability to grasp physical principles. Steven Hawking was born with an amazing mind, but was also born with a horrifying genetic defect. I was born with the ability to heal.”
We were getting nowhere. I was far away from where I wanted to be on this story. This would not look good on paper. I could see Harvey now, reading this and asking incredulously how I expected him to print something like this. It was true. This was too raw and gritty for our small-time magazine. To top things off, my headache was coming in full force. I started thinking of a way to get out of here quickly.
“By the way, it’s not Duchenne” he said before I could think of something suitable.
“Come again?” My brain was not working. It was too busy fighting off the approaching migraine.
“I said, it’s not Duchenne. The young lady with M.D. Duchenne primarily affects boys. She has a severe form of the Myotonic variety of M.D.”
“How can you know that? When I interviewed her and her mother, they definitely told me it was Duchenne. Their doctors told them that it was rare in females, but not unheard of.”
“I know what Duchenne M.D. feels like. I know what Myotonic M.D. feels like. The girl had Myotonic.”
“You mean you not only heal people, but you can diagnose their illnesses?” I was incredulous. “Now who’s introducing complications?”
“It’s part of the curse. I can’t heal them until I know what to heal. It’s like a sixth sense. I actually think it has something to do with touching them, maybe some kind of genetic exchange and analysis. It happens very quickly.”
Okay, this was just too much for me to take. I had to get out of there. My brain was pounding. I reached into my bag and shut off the recorder.
“I can see that you’re getting overloaded” he said, reading my mind. “Let’s call it a night”. He turned to the crowd. “Okay everybody, party’s over. Daddy has to get some rest.” He turned back to me. “We leave for Charlotte tomorrow for a week. I was serious about you coming with me. This is too great a story for you to pass up. Please consider it. If you can’t leave tomorrow, you can drive over anytime next week. It’s only three hours away. After Charlotte, we swing over into Tennessee.”
“I’ll think about it”, I said, not able to think of anything other than getting out of here. I picked up my bag and started walking slowly to the other end of the trailer. My legs were a little unsteady. The others were leaving as I approached the door. The man who had given me the note and escorted me was there.
Delaney spoke up from his dressing chair. “Let John drive you home. Give him your keys, and he’ll see that your car makes it home safe and sound. You shouldn’t be driving with that migraine.”
I thanked him, and took him up on the offer. I was feeling pretty helpless, and he was right, I shouldn’t be driving. It didn’t occur to me until much later to wonder how he knew I had a migraine. As I was leaving, I noticed that one of the groupies was lingering behind. It was not Sue. She stayed inside and shut the door as I exited.
I woke up Sunday afternoon, Jamie licking my face, hung-over from the drugs I had taken to combat the migraine. At first I didn’t know where I was. I had a moment of panic before I realized that I was in my own living room on the couch. The last thing I remembered was being in Delaney’s trailer. I vaguely remembered the migraine. I didn’t remember the ride home at all. This migraine business is scary stuff. But what could I do? The doctors were useless.
I lay on the couch, replaying the night’s events. The service. The healings. Talking to Delaney in his trailer. The migraine. How he had known I had a migraine? What was with this guy? Was he playing a con on me? The fact that I had migraines was not common knowledge. I am not one of those people who like to talk about their maladies to anybody who would listen. But I had not gone to great lengths to keep it secret, either. I had talked to Sheila about it. Sheila could not keep a secret. I could see her blabbing to her friends about her magazine writer friend with migraines. I could maybe see word of it spreading, reaching Delaney. That’s what these con-men do. They find out something about their mark. Any little item about their lives. Something they could casually mention, make you wonder how he knew that; make you wonder if maybe he was the real thing. But for what purpose? I didn’t have a lot of money. I suppose he could be seeking some free publicity through the magazine. From what I had read, sometimes these people didn’t really need a reason. They did it just to play the game.
But this was all way too complicated. It was too far a stretch of the imagination. I was getting paranoid. Apply the KISS principle. Keep it simple, stupid.
I needed to find out more. I needed to talk to him. I remembered that he was probably already on the road to Charlotte. One of those phone numbers I had gotten might be a cell phone. I tried all three numbers again and left three messages. The first two sounded like corporate voice mail. The third sounded like it might be voice mail for a cell phone. I tried not to sound too eager in my messages.
I started some coffee, went out and got the paper, noticed that my car was in the driveway, just as Delaney said it would be. That was nice; at least they didn’t rip off my car. I took a nice long hot shower. I had learned a long time ago, no matter how bad you felt in the morning, a shower will make it all go away. A shower will get you ready to face the day. Just as I was turning off the water, I heard the phone ringing. How long had it been ringing? I ran naked out of the shower, across the hall to my office phone. I stood there, dripping on my carpet, and picked up the phone and said “Are you a con-man? Are you playing me?”
Harvey’s voice answered. “Sandi, are you alright? What’s going on?”
“Harvey? Oh shit. Hang on a second.” I put the phone down, ran back to the bathroom, got a towel, and started drying myself off. I wrapped the towel around me, and went back to the phone. I would not talk to Harvey while naked. No matter if he couldn’t see me. The very thought just made me want to puke.
“Okay, Harvey, what do you want? I was in the shower.”
“I just wanted to know how the story is going. You remember? You promised to let me know how it was going.”
“Harvey, it’s Sunday afternoon. It’s my day off. I don’t have to get back to you today.” I didn’t bother to say that I had no intention of getting back to him. I was surprised that he even remembered the story. I was flabbergasted that he even thought about such things on the weekend.
“What was that about a con-man? You asked if I was…”
“I thought the call was from a boyfriend, okay Harvey? It’s nothing. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some things to do today.”
“So what’s happening with the story?” He was a persistent son of a bitch, I’ll say that.
I sighed. “I went to the service last night. The guy did his act. Very impressive. Healed a little girl with M.D. I interviewed him afterwards. I’ve got it all on tape. But I didn’t get much background, just didn’t have the time.” Harvey didn’t know about my migraines.
“Are you going to do some more interviews?”
“Yes, Harvey.” Exasperation. A thought came to me. “But he’s on his way to Charlotte right now. I have to go on the road and talk to him some more. I have to interview his associates, his marks, you know, like we talked about? I’ll try to go light on the expenses, Harvey.”
“Okay, Sandi, but go very light. There’s not much cash in our travel budget this quarter.” He said that every time I took a road trip.
“Alright, Harvey. I have to go now; I’m expecting Delaney to call any minute now.”
“Okay Sandi. One more thing. I think this story has potential. That’s why I’m letting you run with it. Don’t let me down.”
“Aw, Harvey, I’m your star reporter. I wouldn’t let you down, now would I? You’ll get a good story, I promise you. Now, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow. Ciao.” I hung up before he could say more. I winced at the last word. You might catch me saying “adios” on occasion, but I never say “ciao”. I hoped he didn’t pick up on that.
I settled down with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. I was almost feeling human again. This time, when the phone rang, I purposely let it ring three times before answering.
“Hello?” I allowed a sleepy tone into my voice, like I was just getting up from a nice Sunday afternoon nap.
“Hello, Sandi”. It was him. “How are you feeling today? I was quite concerned about you last night.”
“How did you know?” About the migraine, of course.
I could hear him sigh over the line. “You know the answer to that.”
“No, I don’t know the answer to anything!” I let loose with my anger. “What do you want from me? Do you want money? Well, I don’t have any. Do you want publicity through the magazine? There’s not much you can get there. We’re not a very big outfit. Just tell me.”
“I want what I said. I want you to hear my story. That’s all. I’m not playing a game with you. I’m incapable of that sort of thing. I’m lonely, and I need someone to talk to.”
“Why, can’t you communicate with that teenage bimbo you’re shacking up with?” I tried to stop myself, but it just came out.
Most men would hem and haw, and try to justify themselves on the basis of their loneliness. How nobody understood them. He just ignored the question.
“Sandi, when I shook your hand last night, I could feel your headache. I realized immediately that it was a migraine. I’ve felt it before. That’s how I knew. Let me be perfectly honest. From the moment I met you, I knew you were a smart woman. A wise person. You’ve been around. You don’t get fooled. I felt like I could be straight with you, not pretend to be this angel from heaven like I do with everyone else. You don’t know what it’s like, with everybody looking at you like you have a halo above your head. It’s frightening, actually. People really do think I’m sent from heaven. I play along, because it’s the only way I know to get by. I heal people, and because of that, I’m not human. Just think about leading a life like that.”
I didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much I could say to that tirade.
“I’ve never had a successful relationship. Women spend a short time with me, and go away saying this is just too damn weird. Making love with a saint. But I am human, damn it, and I have human needs. Who are you to judge me for satisfying those needs?”
Ah, nobody understands me, that’s why I do it. This part I could understand. I’d heard this before. I’d had a relationship with a married man, back in my younger and more foolish days. I had fun for a while, and then started wondering why he would do this to his wife. Nobody understands me. His constant refrain. As if that explained everything. Delaney’s story had a similar ring to it. But it also had a ring of truth to it. I tried to imagine what life would be like if everybody treated you like a god. Of course, that presupposed that what he was telling me was true. A very big If.
“Why don’t you just come out and tell everybody the truth?” I asked.
“Oh, I’ve tried. Nobody believes me. I tell them I’m just an ordinary man. They say ‘of course you are; now please go and heal my niece, thank you very much’. I do that, and then they’re praising the lord and calling it a miracle and thanking the moon and stars on my head.”
“And if you just stopped healing?”
“You’ve got to realize, I cannot just stop healing. I have to do it. I cannot ignore it. I would have to lock myself away and forever refuse contact with anybody. Or I would have to kill myself, and I’m not sure I can do that anymore.”
Another silence. I needed to do some long thinking about all of this. This was far beyond the travelogue fare I’m used to working on.
“So, will you come to Charlotte?” he asked, like a young man asking a girl out for the first time.
I decided that a three hour trip was just what I needed. I do some of my best thinking in the car. I just roll up the windows, turn on the AC, turn off the radio, and let my mind go free. Until now, I had just been fantasizing about a road trip to see this compelling man again. It was time to ante up. I committed myself.
“Okay, but give me a number where I can reach you directly. I’m not about to leave a message and wait three hours again for you to call.”
“Excellent!” He gave me a phone number. “Give me a call when you get to Charlotte.”
I got a lot of thinking done during the trip. Most of it was trying to convince myself to turn around and go back home, right this very second. I actually pulled over twice; I was that close to doing it. But I kept going. I told myself this was a working vacation. I needed it. I had been working too hard. There was nothing holding me back. I had called Sheila, and she had come and gotten Jamie. He loved staying over at Sheila’s place. She spoiled him rotten. I would have hell to pay when I got back.
I got a call from Mona Peterson. She was ecstatic. Michelle was getting up from bed and walking about the house. She wasn’t running laps around the block, but she seemed to have escaped from her wheelchar. I congratulated her. The power of faith? I didn’t think so, but who knows? So I kept going. The only downside was that my headache was still there, just beneath the surface. I had brought plenty of pills with me. But I didn’t want to knock myself out with pills until I had a chance to talk to Delaney.
I rolled in to Charlotte at about 7:00 P.M. The church was set up on the site of an old abandoned drive-in movie theater. The speaker posts were long gone. The theater screen was still there. This was also the site of a flea market, but they were not running it this week. The church had the entire lot to themselves. They were not running a show tonight. The church did not have services on Sunday, so that they would not interfere with regular church going. Sunday was usually a travel day for the First Church of the Modern Day Revival. I had learned these facts in the research I had done before I had met Delaney.
I pulled in to the lot. It was a ghost town. Delaney had told me that everybody took full advantage of their day off. I pulled out my phone and called the number he had given me. He answered on the second ring.
“Three hours and thirty minutes. You made good time. I figured three forty-five. John was betting four hours, women always take at least an hour to get ready.”
“You were betting on me?”
“Well, just a friendly little wager. You’ve got to do something to pass the time. Here, I’m coming out now. I see you.”
I looked out over the lot, and saw Delaney standing at the door of his trailer. I pulled right up to his front door. I killed the engine, grabbed my bag, and turned around to find him standing there. John was just behind him.
“Not so fast, sweetheart. We’re going out to dinner. I’m treating tonight.”
So, I tossed my bag back into the rear seat and climbed in. Delaney got in the passenger side, and John got in the back. We struck out in search of dinner. John knew about a fantastic diner not too far away, a place called Gypsy’s. We found it easily enough. I mentioned that John seemed familiar with these parts. Delaney said that’s because one of his wives lived here. I didn’t ask, although I was dying to.
Gypsy’s was a retro diner, one of those shiny places with a lunch counter and booths set around the perimeter. It had neon signs on the outside, and an old time juke box on the inside. It was currently playing something by Elvis, “Don’t Be Cruel”, one of my favorites and the B-Side to “Hound Dog”. The place was pretty busy for a Sunday night. We waited a few minutes until a booth became available, and then sat down, Delaney beside me and John opposite.
We mostly talked small talk while waiting for the waitress. Delaney did most of the talking. Did I have a good trip? I made good time, what did I do, speed all the way? I felt a little inhibited, because John was still a stranger to me. He was a big guy, in his forties or early fifties, maybe. He had a graying goatee beneath a stern gaze that made him seem slightly threatening. His quietness contributed to the intimidating impression. He excused himself and headed off to the men’s room.
“So, Delaney, what’s John’s story? Is he your butler or what?”
He laughed. “Well, I guess he’s a little of everything. Butler, valet, chauffeur, secretary, general gopher. He’s an ex-marine, ex-CIA, and ex-police detective. Officially, he’s my bodyguard.”
“Bodyguard? What do you need a bodyguard for? You afraid some old lady’s going to hit you with her psalm book?”
He didn’t laugh at that. “I get threats all the time. Threatening phone calls. Notes delivered while I’m working. I’ve been called a demon and the devil himself. I’ve been warned not to go back to my trailer because it was wired with explosives. I’ve had people take potshots at the trailer, while I was inside. So, I hired John as my bodyguard. When things seem calm, he does things for me, like taking helpless young ladies back to their homes when they can’t drive.”
“Helpless? Young? Lady? That’s three strikes, my friend, you’re outta here.” I smiled as I said it. There was a little more banter. I was feeling more comfortable with him now. This side of Delaney made me feel relaxed. He was not so intense. He actually seemed, well, human. I could understand why he had a hard time with women, if the only side of him they saw is what I saw last night.
When John came back I asked him about his wife. Or wives. Delaney tried to tell me he had a wife in all the states in Dixie. John explained that he had been married three times, and none of them had worked out. One of his ex-wives still lived here in Charlotte. They were still friends. I’d probably meet her; she was planning on coming to one of the services this week. Delaney said oh ho, looks like Johnny’s fixing to get himself some nookie. These two men appeared to have an easy-going friendship, in spite of its professional basis. More proof that Delaney was human, after all.
We had dinner, hamburgers all around. They were big and greasy. This was their idea of heaven. Me, I could live without the grease but I didn’t complain. I was actually having fun. Elvis played on, and the Righteous Brothers, and the Supremes. I pulled out some quarters and started flipping through the Juke selector at the side of the table. Ah, perfect. “Wooly Boolly”, by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs. Second selection, “Guitarzan” by Ray Stevens. The guys were suitably impressed with my tastes in music. We sat back and enjoyed the music as Delaney smoked a cigarette. This was probably the last place in the state of North Carolina which allowed smoking in public. We got a few nasty looks from some of the other customers. We ignored them. I asked him for a couple of drags; my first puffs in ten years. It tasted and felt good, before the dizziness hit. Then, I had to excuse myself. I spruced myself up in the ladies room, thankful that I had gotten past the dizziness without puking.
I came back out and the guys were ready to go.
“Let’s go find us some good country music”, said Delaney. “What do you think, John? You got any place in mind?”
“I’ve got just the place. Danbury’s. The music’s good and loud, the beer’s good and cold, the waitresses are foxes, and I know the owner.”
I piped in. “Sorry, guys, but I’ve got to go find myself a motel. I’m a little tired. I think I’ll pass.” Not to mention that my headache was getting worse..
“Nonsense”, said Delaney. “We’ve set up a vacant trailer for you. Save your money. Hey, I know, we’ll write you out a receipt for the Red Clay Inn and you can expense it and keep the money. Hey John, looks like old Sandi here has some extra cash all of a sudden. I guess that means she buys the first round.”
Uh oh. I had a feeling I was going to be designated driver tonight. These boys were going to have some high times. But, I went along. I was actually looking forward to this. I ignored the headache and pushed on.
Danbury’s was everything John said it was. It was rocking. The band was great. John bought the first round, despite my newfound acquisition of wealth. Delaney bought the second, and third, and fourth. I tried to buy a round, but Delaney wouldn’t let me. John wandered off, meeting up with some old friends. I was good; I only had three scotches on the rocks. I still felt perfectly in control. I didn’t think I would be able to drive worth a damn, but I was in control enough to dance with Delaney. We danced all night. He was not a very good dancer; he was too self conscious up there on the floor. I thought that was damn funny. Here was a guy who could get up in front of 300 people every night and do his thing, but he felt uncomfortable up on the dance floor with a few rednecks around not even paying attention. Despite his nervousness, he kept grabbing me and taking me back to dance some more. We’d get through dancing, order another drink, then take it with us back to the dance floor.
We closed the place down. And, I lied, I actually had closer to six drinks. By the time we were ready to go, I was not ready at all to go. Delaney had to hold me steady as we made our way outside. It turned out that John was perfectly sober. He had exercised great restraint. Either that or he could hold his liquor much better than I could. Delaney was not in much better shape than I was. At any rate, John drove us back to the drive-in. They showed me my trailer, right next to Delaney’s. It was a small popup camper, but it was clean and it had a head and A.C.
Delaney invited me over to have a nightcap. I accepted his invitation. I settled in at the table as Delaney poured the drinks. He actually had a bottle of Dewar’s on hand. My estimation of him was immediately raised even higher. He brought the drinks and settled down beside me.
“So, where were we?” he asked. He seemed perfectly sober now.
“I think we were discussing the relative merits of sixties music versus the seventies” I answered.
“No, I mean, where were we when we left off last night?”
“I don’t want to talk seriously right now. I just want to relax. Know any good jokes?” I started rubbing my temples.
“Did you know”, he said, “that if you took all the preachers in the world and lined them up end to end, they'd still point in the wrong direction?”
I tried to laugh. I tried to be polite. It wasn’t that funny, but I felt I owed him a laugh for trying. My head was hurting too bad for me to summon up even a giggle. “Some drunk I am. I get hung-over even before the night’s over.”
“Look at me, Sandi”.
I looked. He reached out to me. I backed off. He stopped. I thought he wanted to kiss me, and I just wasn’t in the mood. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you” he said, and started reaching toward me again. He gently touched my forehead. It was soothing. I closed my eyes. It was like my mother used to do when I was a kid and would have migraines. She would gently massage my temples, and say quiet words to me, relaxing me, giving me relief for a brief moment. She would tell me how she was drawing the pain out of me, and her hands would go to my neck, leaving no more headache. She would massage my arms, and the soreness in my neck would disappear. Her hands would travel down my arms, and my shoulders would stop aching. Her massage would come to my hands, and my arms were left with a pleasant tingling. The pain would flow right out of my fingertips. It would fade away just long enough for the medicine to take effect.
I opened my eyes. He was no longer touching me. His hands were in his lap. He was looking at me patiently. My headache was gone. Completely. I was no longer drunk. I felt totally at peace. I felt the spent peacefulness of the first few moments after sex. I felt the sensual pleasure of putting my head down on the pillow when I was really tired, ready to go to sleep the instant I let go. This was what it was like. This is what they felt.
I woke up feeling better than I had in ages. Not a trace of hangover. I’m not a morning person. I’m usually groggy when I wake up. Lately, I’d been waking up with various small aches and pains, something I chalked up to age. They would be gone by the time I finished my precious morning shower. I was in my bed in the popup camper. I stretched luxuriously in the bed. I vaguely remembered him taking me home. I was so sleepy I could barely walk. He put his arm around me as he took me back to the popup. He laid me down in the bed and took off my shoes. I was out like a light.
There was a knock at the door, which made me jump.
“Hey beautiful, rise and shine”, his voice coming from beyond the door. “It’s time for breakfast. Well, lunch, actually”.
I looked at my watch. It was 12:15 PM! I had not slept this late since I was in college! I jumped out of bed, noticing I still had my clothes on. I looked in the mirror as I went to the door. Yecch! The Bride of Frankenstein stared back at me.
“Give me ten minutes, Delaney. Where can I get a shower in this dump?”
“Here’s a cup of coffee on the doorstep. Comb your hair, wash your face, and come on over to my place. You can take your shower there. I‘ll see you in a few.”
I waited a minute, then frantically opened the door and grabbed the coffee, before anyone could see me. The place was dead; there was nobody about. I came back in and did what I could with my hair. I changed out of my wrinkled clothes into another outfit. Jeans, nice blouse, sandals. I put a few toilet articles into my bag and headed over to his place. He showed me to the bedroom with adjoining shower, said he had a few things to do and he’d be back. In fifteen minutes I was back to my gorgeous, smiling self.
We went out in my car to get breakfast. We went back to Gypsy’s, which had 24-hour breakfast service. He ordered a greasy meal of eggs and steak. I stuck with fruit and cereal. We were both quiet while we ate. We finished up and he lit up a smoke while I lingered over my coffee. He looked rested. He no longer had the bags under his eyes. His face didn’t seem so gaunt, and the change made him look good to me.
“I liked it when you called me beautiful”, I said, immediately regretting being so…girlish.
“I like it when you call me Delaney.”
“What? I thought you didn’t like last names.” It was also a far cry from being called beautiful.
“I like it because it implies a growing familiarity. You’re getting comfortable with me. Calling me by my first name is a first step in friendship. But my first name is so boring. The way you say my last name, it’s like you enjoy the sound of it. As long as you don’t put a ‘mister’ in front of it, it’s fine by me.”
“What does it feel like when you heal someone?” I asked.
“It’s hard to explain. It’s like a geometric shape, only you feel it and smell it and taste it, as well as see it in your mind. Each illness has its own distinctive shape. Interestingly enough, your migraine had a shape that was very similar to people who have arthritis.”
“Do you feel discomfort? Does the illness…infect you?”
“No, I’ve never gotten sick from healing.”
“Is there any limitation in your ability? Could you bring someone back from death’s door?”
“There have been people with terminal cases of cancer that I couldn’t cure. There have been some that I could. When things get that extreme, it’s difficult to say, because I don’t always know whether someone is actually healed or not. Usually I have a gut feeling, but sometimes I don’t.”
“Can you heal yourself? Do you ever get sick?”
He smiled at that. “I don’t consciously heal myself, but I haven’t been sick in decades. I’m not sure I can get sick. I’m not even sure I can die, for that matter.”
“That’s what you meant the other day, when you said you weren’t even sure if you could kill yourself?”
“Well, besides the fact that I don’t know if I have the balls to do it, yeah. I’m bullet proof, Sandi. The last time I was sick was, oh, let’s see, it must have been about 1962 or so. I remember because I was just starting college and my roommate always wanted to keep the window open at night. I got this sore throat that lasted for a week, until it got cold enough that we shut the window at night.”
“Wait a minute, Delaney” I said, realizing I did like the sound of his last name. “I was born in 1962, and you were in college? Just how old are you?”
“I was born in 1943. That makes me, what, 61 years old now.”
I wanted to be skeptical, thinking again of con-games. But, after last night, how could I question any claim he made? His apparent age could be no more than forty, probably younger. But it made a strange kind of sense. Someone with that power inside him, surely it would affect him as much or more than it would affect others. I laughed inwardly at these thoughts. I was no longer the skeptic, inventing rational explanations for irrational events. I no longer questioned the fact of his abilities. I felt an exhilarating sense of freedom. A thought occurred to me.
“So, you’re immortal. Do you make others immortal too?”
“Now hold on. Nobody’s said a thing about that. I’ve had people I’ve healed who later up and died on me. I maybe extended their lives, but I can’t be everywhere at once. Once someone’s time comes, and I’m not around to change it, they die. Pure and simple.”
“But what if you just kept healing someone? What if they were around you all the time, and you just kept healing them?” The thought sent chills through me.
“I’ve never had anyone like that”, he said somewhat sadly.
“It’s a scary thought. I’m not suggesting…I mean that you and I…”
“You mean that you and I might be together long enough to try it? Why not?”
The man’s need was heartbreaking. To be so isolated. To not have the comfort , the companionship, that others take for granted.
“Have you ever been married?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“Once. It lasted six months. She dumped me, said I was a freak. I ask you again, why not?”
“Delaney, I cannot believe this. We’ve known each other for what, three days, and you’re asking me to marry you or something?”
“No, I’m merely asking if it’s something that could be. Do you immediately reject the thought? Is it so revolting a suggestion?”
“Delaney, I’m entranced by you. You fascinate me. Nothing about you revolts me. But please do not ask me to make a commitment I cannot make. Not now. Ask me again a year from now.”
He put his arm around me and drew my lips to his. A gentle, sweet kiss. I felt a little of that euphoria I felt last night.
“That’s all I wanted to know”, he said softly, nuzzling my ear. “Most of my relationships never get this far. I just had to know if I should give up right here and now.”
“Why do you do it?”
“Do you think I should just bottle it up inside? Never heal again? Don’t you know by now that I just cannot do that?”
“No, I mean why travel around in this flea-bitten carnival? You could accomplish so much more. You could work at a great hospital. You could become the great and famous Dr. Delaney, and all the world would flock to your door.”
“Do you really think that’s what would happen? I tried it once, back in the seventies. I worked as a nurse at a hospital. I healed the people I cared for. The hospital found out and turned me into a lab rat. They ran test after test, MRIs and blood chemistries and X-Rays and psychological profiles. The only things they let me heal were their rats and rhesus monkeys that they had infected with various cruel ailments. They couldn’t figure out what made me tick. They said it was for the good of mankind. I couldn’t take it anymore. I got out.”
“Didn’t they come after you?”
“Of course they did. But I managed to ‘die’, with the help of a friendly doctor who couldn’t stand by and watch what they were doing to me. Once I was dead, they forgot about me. I passed into legend. Nobody believes the old stories anymore about the man who could heal by touch. If there is anyone left who knew anything about it, they’re old and their stories are attributed to senility. The friendly doctor died a few years ago. So now, I do my healing in a place where that won’t happen again. Nobody takes me seriously, except the poor souls who need me the most.”
I thought about what he had suggested. About being with him, no longer subject to human ailments. The thought horrified me. But I wasn’t lying, he fascinated me. I was infatuated with this man. That kiss had awakened something in me.
“I don’t know if I want to live forever”, I said.
“I don’t know if I want to, either. But we don’t even know that’s what would happen. Let’s take things as they come.”
Yes, one step at a time. This time, I instigated the kiss. It was stronger, more passionate. We held our lips together for a long time, our tongues exploring, reveling in each other’s taste.
“Do you want to go back to my place?” he whispered in my ear.
What was I getting myself into? My every instinct told me I should stop this. I had a life, a career. Could I have a relationship with this man, this lonely wanderer, and still keep those things? But I didn’t want to stop. I was lonely too. I had been without a partner for a long time. God help me, I couldn’t stop it from happening.
“Yes”, I said.
The afternoon sun came in through the window, bathing us in light as we snuggled against each other. I lay in luxurious warmth. I didn’t want to move, ever again. If only I could capture this state of being forever. Was this heaven, or what?
“I only have one thing to ask of you, sweetheart” I said softly in his ear.
“Mmmm, name it, my love”, he said from his half-slumber.
“No more teenage floozies. No more groupies. I suppose I should have said something earlier, before. But you had me too occupied to think of it.”
“It is yours for the asking. From now on, you are my groupie. My one and only floozy.”
I smacked him in the bare ass. Playfully. “You better believe I’m your one and only floozy, buster. I don’t take to men who mess around.”
He sat up and started tickling me. That’s my one weakness. I’m a strong woman, but tickle me and I become helpless. He had discovered that early in our lovemaking. We play-wrestled a little bit, laughing, and then lay back in each other’s arms.
“Shall we go another round?” I asked, giving him a gentle tug.
“You want to go for thirds? Woman, you’ll be the death of me. I’m afraid you’ll need to pump me full of Viagra. Alas, we have a service tonight. I’ve got to start getting ready. I hate to fuck and run, but…”
I went for another slap on the ass, but he was too fast for me. He was up and out of the bed, laughing and running bare-assed to the bathroom. I lay back with my arms behind my head, a big smile on my face. It had been too long. In the last few years of my disastrous marriage, my husband and I had barely talked to one another, let alone shared sex. I don’t know why we had kept up the pretense of marriage for so long. There were no children to protect from the stress of a failing marriage. The doctors told me that his wigglers were just fine, that I was the one who was infertile. I was pretty sure he was running around on me, but that’s not something I felt comfortable doing in return. After the divorce, I just got wrapped up in my career. I was too shell-shocked to even consider a relationship. There were a few one-nighters, but even they were few and far between.
He came back out and started applying his makeup. So, he did his own makeup. He was his own artiste. I watched for a while, admiring his slow, sure movements, hoping for some inspiration to apply to my own ministrations. But I quickly got bored. Watching someone apply makeup is not on my top-ten list of entertainments. I got up, stretched, went to the head and took a pee, and started getting dressed.
“I’m sorry I have to abandon you, my darling” he said. “But it’s another day, and another dollar. We can go out and have some fun after the service.”
“That’s alright, I think I’m just going to wander around and see what there is to see.”
“I’m afraid it’s our usual Monday night crowd tonight. Not very exciting. It won’t get rocking until word gets around, usually by Wednesday or Thursday. Why don’t you go find John and see if he wants to get something to eat with you? I never eat before a service; it makes me sleepy.”
“Okay, maybe I’ll do that.”
I gave him a kiss, making sure to find a spot on his face that he hadn’t gotten to yet. I left his trailer and started wandering around. The tent was up. The band was inside tuning up, and the singers were warming up their voices and doing mike checks. Riggers were running around making last minute adjustments to the tent. There was no trace of the large crowd and carnival atmosphere I had encountered at the last service. They sorely missed the presence of the flea market, an automatic attraction which got the crowds in early and riled them up for the evening’s festivities.
I came to John’s trailer, another popup on the opposite side of Delaney’s trailer from my own. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He must’ve gone out for an early dinner. Maybe he had even gone to see that ex-wife of his. He probably had to be back in time for the service. It was a nice warm evening, even with the sun getting lower in the sky, perfect for just walking around and getting some air. I went to the tent, and sat in the back, listening to the sounds of the musicians warming up. I recognized one of the roadies I had seen the other night, arm-in-arm with Sue, the squeaky voiced temptress. She saw me and came over, dragging the roadie with her.
“Well hi, Miss Sandi, how are you doing?” she said. Oh god, ‘Miss Sandi’, that was even worse than ‘Ms. Johnson’.
“Hi, Sue. I’m doing fine. Please call me Sandi.” I wondered just what it was that Sue did here. If she was a secretary, she just didn’t seem to do much work. Every time I saw her, she seemed to be far away from a desk and phone.
“Okay, Sandi. I’d like to introduce you to Rod, my boyfriend.”
We exchanged our pleased-to-meetchas and made small talk for a few minutes. Sue then excused herself, saying she had work to do before the service. She dragged Rod down to the stage, and they disappeared through a small flap in the wall of the tent. Yeah, I bet she had work to do.
“Good evening, Ms. Johnson.”
Not again. Would I spend my life asking people to please call me anything but ‘Ms. Johnson’? I turned and saw the smiling face of the Reverend Stephen Dashiel, lord and master of this side show attraction. He already had his silk suit on, his makeup was caked on, and his silver mane was piled high and sprayed to within an inch of its life. It was difficult to say how old he was. His makeup made him look young, but my guess was that he was somewhere in his forties. He used the most obnoxious after-shave imaginable. I decided that I didn’t want to be on a first name basis with this smooth talking S.O.B.
“I wonder if I might have a word with you? I couldn’t help but notice that you have been spending quite a lot of time with Danny, working on your magazine article. Have you been getting everything you need?”
“Oh yes, Mr. Dashiel.” I suppressed a chuckle. Everything I need, yes indeed.
“Good, but please call me Stephen. I don’t quite know how to say this, except to just go ahead and say it. Danny has quite a delicate disposition, you know. He has led a difficult life. He is not only my partner in our holy endeavors, but he is also a very good friend.”
Yeah, and he’s your freakin’ star attraction, I said to myself. Your money machine. Without him, you’d just be another two-bit street preacher. Holy endeavors? Was this guy for real? I thought I could see what was coming. I just mumbled an “uh-huh” to let him know I was still listening.
“I feel it is incumbent upon me to offer a bit of advice. Danny’s place is here. He cannot survive elsewhere, in the ‘real’ world, so to speak. Were he to go off half-cocked on some romantic venture, I fear it would be unhealthy in the extreme.”
Half-cocked? Only half? Not that I had noticed. I castigated myself. Honestly, Sandi, you are turning into a real sex-maniac. I muttered an “um-hmm”. Didn’t want him to think I wasn’t listening or anything.
“For example, if he were to get the notion that he wanted to get romantically involved with someone? To run off? Or perhaps even to get married? To settle down? That would be a disaster. He’s been married before, you know. It didn’t work out, not at all. It took him a long time to recover from that experience. So I just want to stress the point that, for Danny’s sake, he must be treated gently. Like I said, he belongs here.”
My eyes were tearing, I was so touched by his fatherly concern. I didn’t bother mumbling anything in reply. This guy was pissing me off.
“I hope your article goes well. I understand that the magazine business is very stressful, full of deadlines that absolutely must be met. So I assume that sooner or later, you must wrap up your work and head back to write it all up. The sooner that happens, the better, so that Danny can concentrate on his work. I’m sure you understand that this unsubtle conversation is all for Danny’s sake. Does this all make sense to you?”
“I’m sure that we both have Delaney’s best interests at heart, Stephen”, I replied in a sweet tone, but dripping with irony. I could do that so well. “Your concern is touching. Rest assured that I would do nothing to harm him.”
“Excellent. I’m glad we understand each other.”
“I just ask that you remember he is old enough to be your father. So I find it amusing that you would presume to treat him like an errant son. I think he’s fully capable of making his own decisions, and if those decisions involved depriving you of your golden egg laying goose, then I would not cry a single tear on your behalf.”
With that, I got up and started walking away.
He was not done with me yet. “Just remember that he’s kept whores before, and he never keeps them for long. You’re just the latest in a long line of them.”
I didn’t say anything. I just kept walking. I wanted to turn around and slap that ugly smile off his face. I wanted to grab that greased up slick of silver hair and just rip it out to the gray roots underneath. I didn’t. I just kept walking.
I went out to my car, got in, and started driving. The only route I knew was toward Gypsy’s, so that’s where I headed. It was crowded again, a popular place. I was looking around, waiting for a seat to open up, and noticed John sitting in a booth by himself, reading a newspaper, the remains of his dinner pushed aside. I decided he needed some company. I came up to the booth.
“Come here often, sailor?” Okay, it was not the wittiest thing I ever said. But I felt comfortable enough with him that I didn’t feel like I had to make a great impression.
He looked up. “Hey, Sandi, good to see you. Have a seat. I’m waiting for a cup of coffee. I’ve got to get back pretty soon, otherwise I’d stay and watch you eat.”
“That’s okay, I think I’ll just have a cup of coffee myself. Hmmm, that apple pie looks good. You think it’s safe to eat?”
“Gypsy’s apple pie is known and loved throughout the south. It’s probably fresh out of the oven. It’s perfectly safe.”
It was. I highly recommend Gypsy’s apple pie if you’re ever in Charlotte. John lingered and we talked. He told me that Monday services were never well attended, and so he didn’t feel the need to get back right as they opened the gates to let people start coming in. It was when the crowds started coming later in the week that he felt he had to be guarding Delaney every second.
“So, how are things going?” he asked.
“Well, things have been going splendidly, despite the fact that Dashiel seems to think I’m the Whore of Babylon or something”.
“Dashiel is a prick. He thinks every woman Danny ever sees is a whore. He’s a mother hen. He’s afraid Danny’s going to split on him.”
“Yeah, I got that impression.” The more I talked to him, the more I liked John. I liked his no-nonsense view of the world. It matched my own views. I noted that he assumed that I was ‘seeing’ Delaney. There were probably not many secrets you could keep in this outfit. Everyone there probably knew I had been with him this afternoon.
“Dashiel thinks he runs things”, he continued. “In reality, Danny is the main man. Dashiel is too much of an asshole to see that. Everybody knows it but him. Everybody tolerates him because, despite his shortcomings, he’s a good pitch man. That man does know how to run a crowd.”
“Tell me something”, I said, deciding to take advantage of his gossipy mood. “What’s with Sue? I can’t seem to figure out what she does, except lead riggers around by their noses. Was she ever one of Delaney’s bimbos?”
He laughed, a hearty laugh that had me smiling, despite the fact that I didn’t understand what was so funny.
“He didn’t tell you, did he? No, Sue is not and never has been one of his bimbos. Sue is his daughter. She’s been with him since her mother died, oh, I think it was maybe three or four years ago. That was before I arrived on the scene.”
I didn’t know what to say. Delaney had never mentioned it. He had never mentioned that he had any children, period. I felt betrayed. He had not introduced her as his daughter, that evening when I went to his trailer for the first time. We had shared some pretty intimate moments this afternoon, and yet he had never bothered to say one word about it.
“He never told me he had any children”, I said.
“He doesn’t talk about it much. I’m not sure why. You ought to ask him. I’ve probably said too much already.”
“I think I will.” Damn straight I would. I didn’t like the fact that the man I was making love to was keeping secrets from me.
“I thought his marriage didn’t last long enough for children”, I asked him, still a little confused.
“It only takes a few seconds, Sandi”. I walked into that one. I smiled at him but didn’t say anything.
It was time for him to get back. I bid him goodbye. I was still hungry, so I decided to get some dinner. I didn’t want to go back, not just yet. I was not particularly eager to hear Dashiel’s sermon again. Once was enough. I figured I’d kill enough time to get past the sermon, and maybe the first collection, then make it in time for Delaney’s show. The daughter thing bothered me. Why hadn’t he told me? It was no big deal that he had a daughter; that I could handle. It was the fact that he had lied to me. Well, no, he hadn’t actually lied, he had just withheld facts. That was just as bad. I had to think about how I was going to gently approach him about it.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you had a daughter, you son-of-a-bitch?” I was this close to slapping him silly. The service was over, and we were in my car on the way to Danbury’s. I figured now was as good a time as ever to bring it up.
“Easy, Sandi. Let me explain. My, you find things out quickly, don’t you? You are well suited for your job.”
“You know, I don’t really give a shit whether you have a daughter or not. It’s just that you purposefully neglected to tell me about it. I thought you had a thing going with her.”
“I have my reasons. You don’t know the kind of life I lead. There are a lot of crazies out there, and they flock to someone like me. I told you I get death threats all of the time.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So I don’t want those crazies to know I have family. I don’t want to give them that leverage, and I don’t want to put my daughter in harm’s way. Nobody here knows about Sue except Dashiel and John, and now you. That’s why I didn’t say anything the night we met. I didn’t know you. I haven’t said anything since, because, frankly, you haven’t given me the chance to. You’ve been asking the questions, Sandi.”
“It never occurred to me to ask. You gave me this sob story about how lonely you were, and here I am like a sap believing it all.”
“Damn it, Sandi. We’ve known each other three days. We’ve been intimate for less than a day. Did you expect to find out everything about me in that short a time? Give me a break.”
My anger was dissipating. He had a good reason for not telling me, I had to admit. I also had to admit that this had been a whirlwind of a day, what with my acquiring a lover, being called a whore, and finding out he had a daughter. Maybe I was trying to hurry things too much.
“I’m sorry, honey”, I said. “I just hate being lied to. Every relationship I’ve had, I’ve been lied to. I’m tired of it.”
“I’m sorry for not telling you, sweetheart. I should have. I’ve just gotten into this habit of not telling anybody, for Sue’s sake. I don’t want to keep anything from you. I want you to know me inside and out. I have not lied to you yet, and I solemnly promise that I will not lie to you in the future.”
I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. If I wasn’t driving, I would have grabbed him and covered him in kisses. I was so relieved that this wasn’t some deep dark secret that he was keeping from me for nefarious reasons. This was it, our first fight. We came through it with no bruises. I thought maybe there was a future in this relationship. You can have such good times at the beginning of a relationship, but it’s that first fight that tells you if it’s got potential. If you can get through it and work it out, it stands a chance. If you come out of it with resentment and hard-feelings, forget about it. Find another man. Take it from your wise aunt Sandi, this is good advice.
“So, does she have any special talents? Does she take after her old man?”
“Thankfully, no. Other than being a bewitchingly beautiful human being, that is. And despite the way she talks and acts, she is quite intelligent. Have a good long talk with her sometime, you’ll see for yourself.”
I didn’t tell him that I had jumped to the opposite conclusion. I just might have that long talk with her. I would love to be proven wrong. It has happened. Not often, but it has happened.
“Dashiel told me today that I was a bad influence on you. Basically he said I was your ‘whore of the day’.”
“That bastard, I wish he would mind his own business”, he said. “You are no such thing, Sandi. I’ll admit, I’m no saint. I’ve been with a lot of women. A lot of that was compensation for what I couldn’t have, a stable relationship. Most women I’ve known see me as an icon, as some angelic entity, and that attracts them at first. Once they learn the reality of who I am, they are repulsed. I can’t live up to their inflated standards, and so they drop me. But you’re different. You’re the first woman I’ve known in a long time that sees through to the real me.”
“That makes sense, Delaney. The first time I met you, I couldn’t stand you. I didn’t put you on a pedestal at all.” I said it with a smile and a twinkle in my eye.
“There you go. I knew the minute I met you that you hated my guts. Therefore, I knew that you were eventually going to fall in love with me.” There was a twinkle in his eye as well.
“Just one more thing, Delaney. You’ve been running around with all of these whores. This afternoon we used condoms but, I think, just to be on the safe side, we ought to get some tests done.”
“Hey baby, you don’t have to worry about that. I’ve got it covered. I’m bullet proof, remember? That means you’re bullet proof, too. But I’ll do anything you like. We can head over to the E.R. right now, if you want to, and get it done. I wouldn’t want to miss any good times we’ve got coming tonight.”
“What makes you think you’ve got any good times coming tonight, Mr. Delaney?”
“Oh, baby, don’t do that to me!”
“Okay, I think you’ve been a good boy, and you shall get your just desserts tonight. Let’s skip the E.R. For tonight. But I don’t want to take any chances. Let’s go to the E.R. tomorrow. First thing, okay?“
“Okay, Sandi, anything you say.” Men. Promise them a little pussy and they’re like putty in your hands.
We pulled into the parking lot at Danbury’s. John was already there, leaning against his parked car. He had wanted to ride with us, but I had talked him out of that, wanting the chance to talk to Delaney alone. We entered the place, not as crowded as Sunday night but still with a good crowd. There were some people from the church already there, including Sue and her roadie friend what’s-his-name. They had a table already, and we joined them. The band was on break, and so the place was relatively quiet. The waitress came to take our orders.
John stayed right by Delaney’s side. I could tell John was on the job, constantly looking around for trouble. A local girl came up to Delaney, intending to ask for an autograph, or maybe for him to heal her hangnail, I don’t know. John was up immediately and put himself between her and Delaney. They spoke briefly, John shook his head, and she left. Delaney ignored all of this. He kept his back to the two, smoking his cigarette and drinking his scotch on the rocks. I thought maybe he wanted to talk to the girl, to mingle with his fans, but John would have none of that. That was part of the bargain the two men had with each other. John would be the bodyguard, and Delaney had to avoid putting himself in difficult situations. That was a hell of a life for anyone to live.
Sue was to my left. Her roadie friend was deeply engaged in conversation with the man next to him. Delaney seemed to just want to be left alone for a while, so I turned to Sue and we struck up a conversation. I wanted to bring up the subject of her father, but I couldn’t, not in public. I was still curious about what she did. She told me she did a little of everything. She answered the phone, returned calls, did paperwork, payroll, typed letters for Dashiel, and did a lot of the advance work a traveling circus had to do to arrange their next venue. When she wasn’t doing that, she helped with setup and teardown. She helped with collections, laundry, driving, publicity, makeup, supplies, bills, and a million other things. In other words, she was a large factor in keeping this madhouse going. I was impressed. She seemed to have limitless energy.
I asked her if she and Rod, yes, that was his name, were serious. She laughed and said Rod was not serious about anything. She had only been seeing him for a few weeks. Rod turned at the sound of his name and joined the conversation. I instantly disliked Rod. He was a good looking young man, but every other word out of his mouth was ‘fucking’ this and ‘fucking’ that. He was a body builder, and wore a tight short-sleeved shirt and flexed his muscles a lot. You could tell just by looking at him and listening to him that he was used to getting his way just on the basis of his good looks. As he joined in the conversation, he quickly turned it around to himself. He had played baseball in college, and had even had a tryout for the majors. He would have made it, he said, except that the manager was a fucking asshole and had taken a dislike to him. I could see why. Everything had to be about him. I felt bad for Sue that she couldn’t see this in him, that all she could see was his shining exterior. I was not about to say anything to her; it was something she would have to learn for herself.
I turned back to Delaney. He was staring morosely at his drink. I asked him if anything was wrong.
“Sometimes, I just hate this life. I can’t even go to the damned bathroom without John following me.”
There was not much I could say to that. I just let him go on, trying to be a good listener and letting him unload. He had chosen this life-style, not that he had many choices. I understood his reasons. I understood his frustration, but if he didn’t have John there to provide interference, he’d be surrounded by people all the time, all of them wanting something from him. Heal this, heal that. As if to prove my point, two more people came up to the table. Two guys. Two big guys. John was up immediately. I thought John might need some help with this situation, but somehow he managed to block both of the guys at once.
The two guys started getting belligerent. One of them was the boyfriend of the girl who had come up earlier, and he was now demanding to know why Delaney wouldn’t talk to his girlfriend. They were getting loud, and they were trying to push their way past John to get to Delaney. John went into action immediately. He grabbed each man by the shirt and pushed back, propelling them away from the table. I was impressed by his ability to manhandle these guys with apparent ease. By this time, another big man came over and grabbed one of the guys. I guessed this was the bouncer at Danbury’s. Between the two of them, they hustled the two rednecks out the door of the bar and into the street. After a minute or two, John and the bouncer were back inside, laughing. The rednecks were nowhere to be seen. Nobody in the bar seemed to take notice of this incident. Maybe it happened all of the time here. I saw the girl stomp her way out, staring fiercely at John and the bouncer.
“Danny, maybe we better split”, Sue said.
“I’m not going to let them chase me out”, Delaney said stubbornly. “Besides, I’m not finished with my drink.” He sounded a little drunk. He already had two empty glasses in front of him, and was working on his third.
John came back to the table, his arm around the bouncer.
“Folks, I want you to meet my cousin, Andy”, John said, beaming at the bouncer. “Me and Andy have settled many a bar-fight in our time.” I could believe it. As big as John was, Andy was even bigger.
“Andy, that was a fine piece of work you just did”, piped in Delaney. “Let me buy you a drink.” He signaled to the waitress.
“No thank you, I can’t drink while I’m working”, Andy said. “Well, if you folks will excuse me…” and off he went, back to work.
“Well, who wants another round?” asked Delaney, as the waitress arrived to take our orders. He turned to John, who shook his head. John was nursing a coke, and apparently did not drink while working either. He turned to me.
“Delaney, like Sue said, let’s just get out of here”, I said. I had a feeling those two rednecks were going to be back, perhaps with friends.
“I told you, I’m not going to let those mother-fuckers ruin my evening”, he said loudly, and told the waitress he’d have another if nobody else would. He was definitely getting drunk. It looked like he was a mean drunk, just like my ex-husband. Just then, the band came up on stage and started plugging in and tuning up.
“C’mon baby, let’s do some dancing”, he said to me.
“No thanks”, I said. “I’m getting out of here. Catch a ride back with John”. I got up and started walking out. I could hear Danny getting up to follow me.
“Wait a minute, Sandi”, he said to my back. “What’s wrong?”
I didn’t say anything until we were out in the parking lot, next to my car. I turned back to him. I noticed that John had also followed us out, and was standing a discreet distance away. Trying to do his job, and trying not to interfere or eavesdrop.
“You’re what’s wrong, Delaney. You drink too much.”
“Come on, sweetheart, I’m just having a little fun.”
“Yeah, I know that line. I heard it lot from my ex-husband. He was always just trying to have a little fun. Even when he got in trouble because of his drinking. Even when it cost him his job. As long as he got his fun. Even when he started getting into fights. Even when he started slapping me around. It was all just in fun.”
“Jeez, babe, I wouldn’t do those things to you. You know I wouldn’t.”
I got into the car. Delaney came around and got in the passenger side. We sat there a while, not saying anything. I started crying. I hate it when I start crying. I got myself under control, and we started talking. I talked about the disappointments in my marriage and in my life. He talked about his. We talked for two hours, about this and that. You don’t want to know. You’d find it boring, but it was very important to us. Poor John, he was out there through all of it, leaning against his car, arms crossed, scanning this way and that, looking for trouble to come anywhere near. It didn’t come that night, but it was coming.
We finally drove back to his place. He had gotten over his drunkenness. I guess I scared it out of him or something. Maybe he had cured himself of it. I don’t know. I just wished he could cure himself of the demons he had hanging over him. He could heal just about anybody, he could keep himself from aging, but he couldn’t seem to stop the blackness and despair that descended over him. Maybe I am a sap. Was I doing it all over again? Was I getting myself involved with another drunk? I couldn’t go through that again. That was the hardest thing I had ever done in my life, watching a man I had once loved slowly sink into the pit of alcoholism.
We made love that night, and he was the most considerate lover. He seemed to know my every desire. He was slow when I needed it, and he was fast and furious when I needed that. I have never had such a skilled lover. We finally collapsed against each other and fell into exhausted, satiated slumber.
“You’re doing what?” Harvey screamed over the phone.
“Keep your voice down, Harvey. I’m going to Tennessee with Delaney tomorrow.”
“You can’t do that to me! Do you have any idea how much this trip is costing me? And I’m still waiting on that story.”
“Well, you’re going to have to wait a little longer. And this trip is not costing you a dime. I’m staying in a popup camper, Harvey. I’m paying for food out of my own pocket. And please correct me if I’m wrong, but I think I’m due about four months of leave.”
“You’re taking four months?”
“No, but my point is that I need some time off. And I am working on the story. It’s just taking longer than I expected. It’s very complicated.”
It was going about how I expected it to go. I listened to him rant and rave for a while. I had a couple of articles in cold storage, just waiting to be resurrected for a time like this. I wasn’t leaving him high and dry. He could print those articles, they were good ones. That would keep him for a couple of months, until I had the Delaney article fleshed out. There was no reason for him to object, except possibly for the fact that he thought I had gone crazy.
“Okay, Harvey…yes, I understand…yes, I’ll talk to you in a couple of days, let you know…okay, Harvey. Goodbye, Harvey.”
I hung up. That was done. I was in Delaney’s trailer, waiting for the night’s show to end. Closing night in Charlotte. Tomorrow, we were packing up and heading for Bristol. Next step, I had to call Sheila and let her know she could spoil Jamie rotten for another week or so. This was easier. She immediately knew I was shacking up with someone. She had to know all of the details. I told her about Delaney. A little bit, not everything. She was so happy for me. She knew this was just what I needed in my life. I agreed. We caught up on things. I told her to take care of my baby. She said the baby was fine, although he had taken a crap in her bathtub. I told her that was just his way of marking his territory. She believed it. I told her I’d call her again in a couple of days, once we got to Tennessee. We exchanged kisses over the phone and I hung up. That was done. I figured I’d head on over to the tent and watch the closing.
Delaney’s cell phone rang. I could just let it ring, and let his voice mail pick it up. I thought I’d do him a favor, answer it, and take a message. I put on my best phone babe’s voice.
“Hello, Mr. Delaney’s office. May I help you?”
“I’d like to speak to Mr. Delaney, please”. Male. Deep southern accent. Southwest North Carolina. But there was something peculiar about his voice; something I couldn’t quite fathom. I figured it was a bad connection.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Delaney is not available. May I take a message?” I got a pen and pad ready.
“Is this his whore mistress? You just tell him I’m going to cut open his belly and strangle him on his own intestines. He’s gonna lay there dying and watch as I fuck you up the ass and slit your throat open. You got all that?”
I was stunned for a moment. I jumped up and out the door, foolishly asking “who is this, please?” as I carried the phone over to John’s trailer. Maybe John could do something, trace the call or whatever. John wasn’t in. He’d be in the tent, guarding Delaney. It was too late, anyway. He had hung up. I looked at the caller ID log on the phone. A number, no name. Probably a pay phone, but I went back and jotted the number down anyway. I was shaking. I poured myself a shot of scotch, fumbled in Delaney’s desk drawer for a cigarette, and lit it up. Oh, God, what had I gotten myself into? The phone rang again, and I jumped a foot out of the chair. This time I did not answer it.
I had to get out of there. Delaney had said people had taken shots at the trailer. I went out into the dark, tossed away the cigarette. Nobody was around, they were all in the tent. Unless someone was hiding in the shadows somewhere, waiting for me to exit the trailer. I ran across the grounds and into the tent. The choir was singing the last hymn, and the show would be over soon. I looked around for John, but couldn’t find him. Delaney was not on stage. They were probably in the dressing room trailer behind the tent, waiting for the show to be over. I ran down the aisle to the stage, pushing through the overflowing crowd as they were just starting to leave. I went around behind the stage and into the dressing room. There was Delaney. I ran to him and threw myself at him, wrapping him in a tight, shivering hug.
I told him what had happened. John was there, listening carefully. So was half the church entourage. John shooed them out.
“That’s it, I’m getting you a bodyguard”, Delaney said. “John, find someone for me. Quick. I want someone here before we leave tomorrow.”
“I don’t know if I can find someone that quick, but I’ll try”, said John, getting up and pulling out his cell phone. “I think I’ll take a look around the grounds. You two better stay here for a while. I’ll have someone check that phone number, too.” He was taking charge and all business now. I was glad we had him. He was already talking to someone on his phone as he left the dressing room.
Delaney had both his arms wrapped around me. I was still shaking.
“Damn, sweetheart, I’m so sorry you had to go through that”, he said. “I’m used to it; I get it all the time, but I know how unnerving it can be. Don’t worry, it’s just some crackpot. We’ll never hear from him again.”
I didn’t feel reassured. There was something about the way the man had talked that unnerved me. He had spoken slowly, deliberately pronouncing every word, making sure I got the full message. So calm, and yet so crazy. And the tone of his voice, somewhat strange, almost inhuman, almost a mechanical quality to it. Intellectually, I knew Delaney was right. That man was a crackpot. Still, hearing those chilling words does something to you. It turns your world upside down so you’re no longer as secure as you had been a minute ago. The world was no longer a safe place, with people like that in it.
I hugged him tighter. “What if you’re wrong, Delaney? What if we do hear from him again?”
He had no answer to that question.
John came through. We got our extra bodyguards the next day. Two of them. One for me, one just as a spare, I guess. Mine was “Sally”. She had a pumped up body, muscles everywhere, but she still managed to maintain some femininity. She was also an ex-marine. She called everybody “Sir” and “Ma’am”, despite my protests. I pretty much moved in with Delaney, and Sally moved into my popup. The other guy, Claude, moved in with John.
I didn’t hear about any more death threats. I’m sure they were still coming in; I just didn’t hear about them and I didn’t want to. The bodyguards got to work. Sally followed me everywhere. She went to the bathroom with me. She would make me wait while she went in and looked around. She would sit around in Delaney’s trailer, reading, while I worked. She was a quiet woman. I guess that was a prerequisite for doing what she did; just keep your mouth shut and watch. She constantly watched, even when we were in the trailer. She would get up, look out the front window, out the back, go out and walk around the trailer, and then come back in and start reading again.
We spent three weeks in Tennessee, and then swung back east into South Carolina. My “one more week” stretched into its second month. Sheila was understanding. Harvey was not. I was having a harder and harder time understanding why I put up with Harvey at all. My old life seemed so far away. I occupied myself writing copy for the church, pretending I was a religious authority sending letters to the editor in the next town we would be visiting. “Is Danny Delaney for real? I think so, I’ve seen him in action. Maybe you had better see for yourselves, the next time he’s in town”. Which would be the next weekend. I hated doing it, but I’ve done a lot worse in my career. The difference was that I was old enough now to know I was doing something wrong. Of course, I was always working on the story. It just got bigger and bigger, the more I worked on it.
Delaney’s mood was on the upswing. He was not drinking as much. We’d get into a town, and instead of heading for the nearest bar, we would go to a ballgame, or the movies, or the theater. He told me that it was all my doing; when I was around he didn’t feel the need to drink. He made my day when he came back from a trip to the drugstore and proudly pulled up his sleeve, showing me his brand-new nicotine patch. I was proud of him; but wondered how long his new-found religion would last. That’s the thing about addictive personalities. They pop out of a depression and with the best of intentions decide they’re going to turn over a new leaf. This will last a while, until the next depression, and then they’ll sink back into their self-destructive tendencies.
I was falling in love with Delaney. I finally had to admit it to myself. Why else would I be out here, exposing myself to madmen and death threats? I was head over heals in love. I talked to him about it. He said he was in love with me as well, that he had been in love with me since the first day we met. I told him that I wondered if we were talking about the same kind of love. He told me love is love.
“I just can’t imagine going back to my old life, now”, I said to him one day. “I was just going through the motions of living. I tried to make my job be everything that was missing in my life. My job was my lover; it was my children, it was my best friend. Is that crazy or what?”
“No”, he said. “It’s how many people lead their lives. Myself included. You know, I had been going through the motions of life myself. Now, I feel a sense of purpose. I feel a clarity that I haven’t felt for a long time. I credit you for that, my love. One thing the old prophets had right – love is the ultimate purpose. I feel love for you, and because of that I feel love for the people I heal.”
Things seemed to be going so well. We were in love. We were doing something purposeful, something really worthwhile. It seemed like we could just go on forever like this. But that was not to be.
Things started going wrong the day I woke up to my phone ringing. It was 7:00 A.M. People knew not to call me at that hour, unless it was an emergency. Scenarios started racing through my head as I got up and raced to the phone. Who was it? Sheila? Harvey? Maybe it was Delaney.
I picked up the phone. “Hello? What’s wrong?”
No reply. “Hello? Sheila?”
No reply, and then: “You are going to hell soon, bitch”. A click and then silence.
It was that same voice. The voice that was embossed in my memory, from that day weeks ago when I had picked up Delaney’s phone and received the first death threat. That same slow, measured and inhuman voice. It had come back to haunt me. I knew the drill. I wrote down the caller ID number. I thought it was different from the first time, but wasn’t sure. I went over to John’s trailer. John and Claude were out, probably escorting Delaney, where ever he was. I went over to Sally’s trailer. She let me in and I quickly told her the story. She immediately called John. As I had guessed, he was out with Delaney. They were now on their way back.
“The thing I don’t understand”, I said, “is how he got my number. Only three people, well, four, know that number. I trust all of them. They know I don’t want them to give it out.” I was surprised that I was so calm this time, since I was so close to panic the first time. Oh, I felt fear, alright. But it was a colder fear, not hot and stabbing like that first time.
“All right, let’s think it through, Ma’am”, Sally said in that no-nonsense military way she had of speaking. “You say four people know that number. Who are they?” She had her pad and pen ready to take notes.
“There’s my editor, Harvey Smithson. There’s my best friend, Sheila Holgate. I gave it to Delaney. And, there’s my ex-husband, Darryl Shields. Oh shit, you don’t think he’s…” I didn’t continue the sentence. Darryl was a jerk and a loser, but he didn’t have the balls to do something like this. I regretted not having changed the number on my cell phone when we broke up, but it just didn’t seem worth it. “No, it couldn’t be him. He wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“It’s okay, Ma’am, we’ll get to the bottom of this. Don’t worry about it. There’s probably a very reasonable explanation. One of your friends gave out your number by mistake. You know, someone calls, says they’re with your bank, or your doctor, and they urgently need to get in touch with you. It happens all of the time. Why don’t you give your friends a call and ask them? Tell them you’ve started receiving calls from marketers, and you just want to find out how they got the number.”
I hoped that was the explanation. I got to work. I called Harvey. He said he had not given out my phone number, what kind of a cad did I think he was? I didn’t answer. I just thanked him and hung up. Sheila was next. I was avoiding the call to Darryl; I just didn’t want to talk to the son-of-a-bitch. I decided that if it wasn’t Sheila, then it was Darryl by process of elimination and I wouldn’t even have to talk to him. So I called Sheila.
I hit pay dirt. It was Sheila, that dingbat. She was very apologetic. The man had seemed so pleasant on the phone. He was processing my loan application, I had listed her as a reference, and he wanted to verify a few facts with her. It was all very reasonable. Was I employed by ‘Living in the South’ magazine? Was my employer Mr. Harvey Smithson? Was my home address such-and-such; was my home phone number so-and-so? All information which was publicly available and easily obtained. He had been trying to get in touch with me, but I wasn’t answering my phone. She fell for it, and just like that he had my cell phone number. She apologized profusely. I told her it was not a problem. She wasn’t convinced; she heard something in my voice. I heard a car pull up outside, and I told her I’d call her later. I’m afraid I was rather abrupt with her. I was pissed at her, and I wanted her to stew about it for a while.
Delaney, John, and Claude came in, and shortly after that Sue entered. I went through the whole story. I told them about the mechanical quality to the voice. John said it was probably electronically disguised. He was very concerned. “This is the first time we’ve had a repeat. This guy has gone to great lengths to deliver his threats. We have to take him seriously. You’ve got to cool it for a while, Danny. I think you need to take a vacation, lay low for a while, so we can sniff around.”
“But we’ve still got bookings for the next six weeks”, said Delaney.
“Cancel them. I mean it.”
I thought Delaney was going to resist. He looked at me, as if to ask my opinion. I tried to be as calm as I could, not show any of the fear I felt inside. It was his decision, but I had an idea I wanted to try first.
“How about if I just lay low? Delaney can continue working, and I’ll just go take a trip to the mountains or something.”
“It won’t work”, said John. “Danny is the one this guy is after, not you. He’s just targeting you to get to Danny.”
Delaney was deep in thought. This time he didn’t look at me, knowing that it was his decision to make. He had to decide whether he was going to listen to his security man’s advice, or whether he was going to ignore it. If he took it, he was sacrificing a considerable amount of revenue. If he ignored it, he was taking a dangerous chance. He knew that if he went against his advice, John would resign. He was that kind of man.
“Okay”, said Delaney. “We’ve got to cancel the tour, there’s no other option. But we’ve got a show tonight, and it’s too late to cancel it. Let’s just get through it. This is closing night; our biggest draw.”
John was obdurate and shaking his head. “No show tonight, Danny. It’s too risky.”
Delaney thought some more, an agonized look on his face. “Okay, we cancel tonight as well”, he finally said. “We just tell the truth. We’ve received death threats and we’ve got to cancel. We’ll tell them we’ll reschedule as soon as possible. I’ll go tell Dashiel. He is not going to be happy about this.”
Nobody was happy about it. The riggers and the choir were unhappy since they would be out of a job after tonight, six weeks early. There was nothing we could do about that. We posted signs on the gates, and then everybody started in on the teardown. We wanted to be ready to move out before show time. We didn’t want a bunch of unhappy customers watching as we slinked out of town. It would be close, but we could do it. Everybody pitched in, including Delaney, myself, and the bodyguards. The plan was that we would teardown, move out, drive all night, and arrive at Raleigh late that night. John knew someone with a warehouse where we could store all of our gear. He had already contacted him and made arrangements.
Delaney was right. Dashiel was not happy at all. But he really had no recourse. Delaney truly was the one running this outfit. Dashiel ranted and raved, and threatened to keep the show on the road without Delaney. He quickly realized the futility of that gesture and relented. All during the teardown, he marched back and forth, cursing Delaney’s name, and didn’t help with the work one iota. But, then again, he never helped with teardown anyway.
At one point, the mayor of the town showed up, and Delaney had to drop what he was doing and go talk to the man. The mayor was incensed; since he was losing quite a bit of tax revenues and probably some kickbacks because of our premature departure. I overhead him saying that we would never get a license in this town again. Delaney was patient; repeatedly explaining the reason we were leaving and that we would be back, if they would have us. I don’t think he got through to the man. He finally left, and Delaney came back to work saying only that there was no way we were ever coming back to this place, no matter how much they begged.
We got the job done, and were ready to roll an hour before the scheduled show time. Even so, there was a small crowd of people outside the gates, watching as we packed up. They didn’t appear particularly pleased. They would harass anyone who came within earshot. We finally fired up our engines and started through the gates, to the catcalls of the crowd. We had made our escape.
Sally was driving my car, and I was riding in the passenger seat. Delaney was riding in the trailer cab with John driving and Claude riding shotgun. Our entourage set out on the highway and sped away into the evening. It was a six hour drive to Raleigh. It was two hours before I felt reasonably safe. While we were on the road, a call came in on my cell phone. I didn’t want to answer it. Sally answered the call. It was Sheila, who was worried sick about me. She had had a premonition that all was not well, and was concerned by the way I had brushed her off during our last conversation. I reassured her that I was safe. I told her I was on the way home, and would tell her all about it when we got there.
We rolled in to the warehouse lot in Raleigh at close to midnight. It was an old tin roofed building, and it looked empty. John’s friend met us there. Most of our gear, including the tent truck, we just parked in the parking lot. I saw John introduce the owner to Delaney, and saw some money change hands. The crew set up the trailers and campers right there in the lot. We would spend the night there. It had been a long day and everyone was dead tired.
I went in to Delaney’s trailer. He was already asleep. I was tired but too keyed up to sleep. I poked into his desk and found an old pack of cigarettes. I went out into the lot. It was a warm, pleasant night. It was nice and quiet. I sat on the loading dock steps and lit up. I knew I shouldn’t be smoking, but I was too tired to argue with myself tonight. I sat lost in my thoughts. Delaney had said that they would probably move the campers to a campground after a day or two. The thought depressed me. I would invite Delaney to stay with me while we were on this unplanned vacation. At least I could be earning some money, enough to keep the two of us fed.
My thoughts were interrupted as someone came walking up. It was Rod. Wonderful. I could sit here and watch him flex his muscles.
“You’re having trouble sleeping too, I see”, he said. He lit up a smoke and stood with one foot on the step beside me, flexing his biceps as he flicked his lighter, as if it took all of his strength.
I didn’t want company. I wanted to be left alone. I summoned all of the negative psychic energy I could and beamed it his way, hoping to will him into going away. It didn’t work.
“Think we’ll get back on the road anytime soon?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Maybe if I just bored him to death he would go away.
“You want to know what I think?” he asked.
“No.” I was not going to make this easy for him. I refused to even look at him, instead staring off into the distance.
“I think he got scared.”
“Oh.”
“I think those death threats made him piss his pants. I think he’s gonna go away and hide in the woodwork. You think he’s gonna do that?”
I didn’t say anything. Who did this piss-ant think he was, anyway? What the hell was he getting at?
“I said I think he’s gonna crawl away like the cockroach he is. He’s gonna turn tail and skedaddle underneath some pile of shit somewhere. Where he belongs. Did you get all that, missus magazine writer?”
That voice. I knew that voice. That measured cadence, the accent.
“Someone’s gonna come along and squash that cockroach. Send him back to hell where he came from.”
Oh shit! I jumped up, but he pushed me hard back down to the steps. He leaned over and pushed my chest down with one hand, while the other pressed against my mouth. I lifted my head up, straining against his grip, and grabbed a breath through his hand, and I was just letting out a muffled scream when his other hand lifted and came down in a fist into my left eye. The force of the blow smacked my head against the concrete step, and I was suddenly seeing blinding lights through the pain. I couldn’t see the next one coming, but I felt it. I blacked out.
I came to in just a few seconds, I think. Rod was nowhere to be seen. I started to get up, but dizziness forced me back down to my knees. I screamed for help. I screamed again. I reached to the back of my head, where a lot of the pain was coming from, and felt something wet. My hand came away bloody. A few lights were coming on in some of the campers. I struggled to my feet, and started staggering toward Delaney’s trailer. I had to warn him. I couldn’t seem to get one foot in front of the other, and kept lurching to one side and then the other.
I saw John race out of his camper, in jockey shorts, white tee shirt, and a gun in his hand. He looked over to me. I had to be a sight, bloody and staggering like I was drunk. I thought John was going to come over to help me, but he raced toward Delaney’s trailer. He moved fast for such a big man. He ran in through the already open door. I thought I heard voices inside as I came closer. I heard Sally’s voice calling to me from the other camper, but I was already at the door to Delaney’s trailer.
Just before I got in, I heard the shots. Blam. Blam. Two shots, closely spaced, different guns. Then a final one. Blam. I jumped at the sound, confused at first at what I was hearing. I staggered through the door and forced myself to look, although I didn’t want to. I saw John at first, in his policeman’s stance, both hands on his gun, his feet braced, his body turned sideways to make a smaller target. There was still smoke rising from his gun. I saw Rod lying on the floor in front of him, his gun on the floor at his side. And then, the sight I didn’t want to see. I forced my eyes up to the bed; the bed he and I had made love in so many times. He was lying there with his eyes open but glazed. He looked ordinary. He looked unhurt. He was breathing. Just in shock. It was then that I saw the blood soaking his tee shirt. I saw the small black hole in the shirt, just over his heart. Such a small hole. Surely such a small hole could not do much damage.
Claude came in, pushing me aside. He and John got to work, with Claude checking out Rod while John worked on Delaney. I staggered closer. This couldn’t be happening; this was not real. I think I was moaning, but I have no idea what I was trying to say. Sally came in and grabbed me, whispering soothingly to me, telling me to let them work, to let them help him. I didn’t want to go, but I had no strength left to resist. She pulled me out the door into the night, past the crowd that had gathered outside. I could hear someone ask someone else: “Did she shoot him?” We went over to the loading dock, where I could still see my blood on the steps. She started ministering to my wounds. In the distance, I could hear a siren. I saw Sue come running up, panic in her face. Dashiel was close on her heels. She pushed through the crowd and into the trailer. I heard her scream. A short moment later Dashiel came out with Sue in his arms. She was crying great hysterical sobs. Funny, I wasn’t crying at all. I was still trying to tell myself that he was okay.
Dashiel led her over to us. I took Sue in my arms, even as Sally pressed something to the back of my head. She was still crying hysterically. I tried to calm her, but I wasn’t having much success. Everything I tried to say came out incomprehensible. Pretty soon, I was crying just as much as Sue was. We held each other, we cried to each other. We tried to tell ourselves that he was going to be okay. We asked each other why, and neither of us knew the answer. We were like this as the ambulance and fire trucks came, and the men went into the trailer with their bags and their portable resuscitator. Two more pulled a stretcher out of the back of the ambulance. John came out of the trailer, the front of his shirt covered in Delaney’s blood. He looked around and found us.
“They’re going to take him to the hospital. He’s in bad shape. He’s losing a lot of blood. Rod is dead”. As he said this, they were carefully maneuvering the stretcher out of the trailer. Delaney’s face was hidden from view by the neck collar they had on him. He was not moving at all. There were bloody bandages over his chest. I disengaged from Sue’s grasp and started toward the ambulance. “I’m going with him”.
John reached over and stopped me. “They won’t let you. Come on, we’ll drive over.” We went over to my car, the most convenient vehicle available at the moment. John held out his hand for the keys. I gave them to him and got into the passenger side. Sue, Sally, and Dashiel climbed in back. We were ready to go just as the ambulance was pulling out. A cop came up in his squad car, intending to stop us from following. John said a few words to him. The cop turned around and sped off after the ambulance, lights flashing and siren screaming. We followed close behind. My mind was numb. The only things I could think of were that John couldn’t go to the hospital in his underwear, and that it was just such a small hole.
We waited and waited. A doctor came out and took me to a room where he treated my head injuries. Nothing serious. I went back out to the waiting room. A doctor came out and told us Delaney was in critical condition, and might not survive the night. I asked if I could see him, and he said not right now. We waited some more. Another doctor came out and told us he might not survive the night, and again I was refused. Sue was refused, even after she told him she was his daughter. We waited some more. A third doctor came out.
“Jesus Christ”, I said irritably. “Do you guys draw lots to determine who will be the next to come out and say no to us?”
The doctor didn’t even smile. He looked like he’d been working for about forty hours straight. “I need to talk to the immediate family.”
Oh no. This didn’t sound good. Sue went over and talked to the guy. At one point, she pointed over to me. Finally, he motioned me over. “He’s in and out of consciousness right now. He’s still not out of the woods, but the fact that he’s awake could be a good sign. You two can go see him. Just you two. And you get a couple minutes each, okay? No more.”
We nodded our heads vigorously. I dared to hope. The guy was not exactly optimistic, but at least he wasn’t shaking his head in dismissal. He led us down one hall, and another, up some steps, and another hallway, up an elevator, and down another hall. We came to the ICU, an outer room with glass walls looking in to the patient’s rooms. I motioned Sue to go first. She went into Delaney’s room, and I stayed outside, listening to the beeps and tones of life’s ebb and flow. A nurse sat at the desk, staring at the machines that each represented a living, breathing human being. There was a full house tonight, four suites occupied. I could see through the glass wall. I could see Sue sitting next to a bed, and I could barely see him in there, a mask over his face. He nodded occasionally. She took more than her allotted two minutes, but I didn’t begrudge her the time. She finally stood up, he nodded once more, and she came out.
She had a pained smile on her face. I hugged her, and then I went in. His eyes were closed. I sat down on the chair beside him. What do you say to a man in his condition? Do you let him sleep in peace? Do you awaken him to his pain? I finally settled for a simple “I’m here, Delaney”. His eyes remaining closed. My eyes started tearing. I pulled out a Kleenex and wiped them as best I could. I will not cry, I told myself. Not yet. His breathing changed. I looked up at him and his eyes were open, looking at me.
He reached up and pulled the mask from his face. “Sandi” was all he had the strength to say before the mask snapped back against his face. I told him again I was here. He nodded, and then closed his eyes again. The tears were streaming down my face, stinging my eyes. My face was screwed up as I struggled to stop myself from bursting out crying. I heard a soft tapping on the window. The doctor was out there, beckoning to me to come out. My time was up. I started to rise when I felt his hand on my wrist. He beckoned me closer. I came close to his face, and he lifted the mask once again, and said something. I couldn’t quite make it out. His eyes closed again.
The doctor came in, and beckoned me silently. I started to get up again, and his lips moved underneath the mask. I couldn’t hear any words, but it was the same thing he had said before. I’ll never be absolutely sure, but I think the last words I heard out of his mouth were:
“Sandi, you are my angel.”
The doctor took my arm and led me out. Within the next half hour, he was dead. Despite his abilities, he could not heal himself. He could die after all.
And so, my long delayed story is almost at an end. Just a few loose ends to tie up. It came out that Rod was a member of a strict fundamentalist Christian sect. It also came out that Rod was abused by his father. Why did he feel the need to kill Delaney? That we’ll probably never know for sure. I’ll spare you all of the theories. What they all boil down to was that Rod was fucking crazy, and he thought Delaney was the devil.
John tried to take the blame for what had happened. After all, it was his job to protect Delaney. I told him that that was bullshit; it was an inside job and he was looking for someone external. Rod had been hired before John came aboard and so he naturally assumed that someone had screened Rod. That turned out not to be the case. Nobody blamed John; we all thought he had done the best job possible. I pointed out to John that if anybody should take the blame, it was me. Rod had revealed himself to me. I should have been quicker in raising the alarm. If I had been less dense, had read the signs, Delaney might still be alive. Everybody thought that was bullshit also. In the end, we all shouldered some of the blame.
The First Church of the Modern-Day Revival folded. Dashiel disappeared, but there are rumors that he went west and started a small TV ministry. Sue and I stay in touch. She met a man, got married, had some kids, divorced; you know, the usual American success story.
What about me? Harvey would not print my story. It was not appropriate for his small-time Dentist Office magazine. He also thought I had gone nuts. I shopped the story around, but there were no takers. Actually, I did get some offers from a religious publications outfit that wanted to turn the story into The Second Coming. I turned them down. It was not what he would have wanted. I finally put it up on a friend’s web site, just so it would get read by somebody. I resigned from the magazine, and now I freelance from time to time, earning just enough to get by.
Delaney is now passing into myth once again, just as he had when he created such a stir at the hospital long ago. How could it be otherwise? Nobody can believe that a true-to-life healer passed their way. Somebody would have noticed. Somebody would have written something. Somebody would have trumpeted the coming of this man to the entire world. His followers would have spread his gospel. Instead, he lapsed into oblivion. Time has that effect, turning truth into myth, reality into fantasy, history into fiction.
I dream about him occasionally. The dreams always start out the same. We’re in his trailer, and we’re recording the story. Most of the time, I would ask the questions and he would answer. In one particular dream, it seemed like I did all of the talking. I told him things that I had been wanting to say, but just didn’t for one reason or another. After I woke up, I wrote down everything, and it went something like this:
“I feel like you have saved me”, I said, hoping he wouldn’t take it the wrong way. “If it hadn’t been for you, I’d still be living that pointless life. You came along at just the right time, before I completely resigned myself to my lot in life. You’re a godsend. You know, Delaney, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I wonder if maybe you do have this gift for a reason. Maybe it is a gift from God. Don’t get upset, sweetheart, I’m not trying to make you something you’re not. I’ve just been looking for an explanation. I don’t believe in accidents. And you know me. The last thing I would think of is to attribute something to God, something I could find a rational explanation for. But there is no other explanation. If you believe that things have to have an explanation, the only thing that makes sense is that God gave you this gift.”
“You think I’m an angel, is that it?” he asked in a neutral tone.
“I don’t know! What’s an angel? I sure as hell don’t know. I’m not saying anything about angels. I’m just talking about God. Not the fire-and-brimstone God of Steven Dashiel. Not the God of the bible and of Jesus. I’m talking about God the creator; forget the other myths that go along with that. He created you and me. It’s the same God Who made that psycho Rod, Who made kids suffer with M.D., Who created the terrorists in Iraq. And if He made all of those things, bad and good, surely He made this gift you have. I don’t know what His intent was in giving you this gift. But give it to you He did. It is a gift for good, so He must have intended it for good. And that is how you have used this gift, for good.”
I ran out of things to say, and yet had a million more things to say. These things were just a jumbled up mess inside my brain. My spiritual side was a little rusty from long disuse. Again, I hoped that he wasn’t taking all of this the wrong way; thinking perhaps that I was creating that angelic view of him that he hated so much.
“Maybe you’re right”, was all he would admit. “I’ve long since stopped thinking about it.”
I still don’t know what an Angel is. The only thing I can figure out about this dream is that his final words finally make sense to me. We were each other’s Angels, and we saved each other. What other possible meaning could there be?