Lost in arcadia a novel, p.19
Lost in Arcadia: A Novel, page 19
Mark had made it clear on their first day together that he had no interest in learning more about her. “This is a professional relationship, and we will keep things professional.” It was part of his spiel, something he said to every junior officer assigned to him for fifteen years, and in the office this had gotten him a reputation as a complete hard-ass, to put it lightly. Rebecca called him “Officer Buttstick,” but his attitude suited Teresa just fine.
“Hey, I mention we’re going to need you for a night bust this weekend?” asked Mark, not taking his eye off the radar gun. A small salt lake had formed on the dashboard.
“No. What’s the deal? Meth lab bust? Smuggling illegals into the country? This is my first time doing anything like this.”
“Nah, nothing so big. Don’t need to worry about that sort of thing until you’ve got a few more months under your belt and a new assignment. No, a friend of mine working on prostitution asked if I could show you the ropes in one of those cases. Thinks you might be good there. Always useful to have more women working in vice.”
“Okay. So what do I have to do?”
“Show up is all. I’ll be there, too, you just follow my lead like normal. Here, I’ll show you the tip off.” Mark pulled his phone out of his pocket and slid his finger across its face. He navigated through a few screens and handed it to her.
albuquerque > gigs > event gigs
Dancers (female) needed for party (Albuquerque)
Date: 2037-05-16, 9:39PM MDT
Reply to: coyote@//\//\ʃ|3ə.com
We are looking for one or more female “dancers”—you know the type (but it’s not one we’re willing to spell out here on craigslist because that would of course result in this post being deleted and we wouldn’t want that, now would we)—for an upcoming party. Pay is negotiable, and we can provide transpiration to/from the event. The gig will only last from 10pm til 2am, though we don’t expect you to be working for the whole time. Applicants must be attractive, reliable, and above smart enough to realize what it is we’re actually requesting in this ad. Please send photo and contact info to coyote@//\//\ʃ|3ə.com.
• Location: Albuquerque
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
• Compensation: negotiable
“Usually we don’t respond to these sorts of things. Craigslist is filled with ‘escorts.’ But I guess this one stuck out to them, and I can see why. I’m guessing they think it’s entertainment for something sketchy, maybe a low-level drug deal or underground gambling or something. Anyhow, it’s out of the ordinary, so I guess they’re following it up.”
“Late night…”
“Don’t complain, you’ll get time and a half.”
“Nice, my first overtime. And you said you’ll be there too, right?”
“Yeah, but don’t look so down, that’s just how they run things. Show’s you’re doing well. Only been on the clock for a couple of weeks and already invited for some real police work. Hey, there’s one. Looks like we may meet that quota after all.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“I get what you’re saying, Eric … but doesn’t Christianity already have a spokesperson?”
“No, of course not. Gideon, my friend, this is a revolutionary way of thinking about religion. That’s why they hired us. They told me on the phone, ‘We know there are a lot of agencies out there, but we want the firm who figured out how to finance the GWoF and got corporate adoption past the Supreme Court.’ Or something like that, I can’t be bothered to remember what they actually said, got a busy schedule. Point is, this is some big-league shit.”
“No, I mean like Jesus Christ.”
“What are you so mad about?”
“Huh?”
“You know, the guy whose name is the same as the religion.”
“Oh yeah. Him. Well he’s certainly great and all, a real symbol for the people, definitely. Thing is, and you know this as well as I do, Jesus isn’t around to do press appearances during the Super Bowl. He isn’t out there campaigning for Haight’s reelection or endorsing crackers in a television commercial … which is a damn shame because we had some great commercials worked up before the guys in legal put a stop to it.”
“Sorry to interrupt Eric, but just so I understand … you want a person to represent Christianity. But not Christ?”
“Precisely. No dead people need apply. I know you are the man for the job, know you’re hep with it, as the kids say, at least according to our research group.”
“I don’t even … what about the pope?”
“Did I say Catholic? No, boyo, I said Christian, and while I don’t want to count the Catholic market out, hell, they’re huge where you’re from and always big in Massachusetts, a lot of their stuff turns the rest of the Christians off. You know, the mysticism and the smelly old relics and the guys wearing pajamas molesting young boys. You wouldn’t believe it, but according to some of the testing we’ve done, the public would rather they were feeling up little girls. Public gets that. Public even respects that in some sense, gets some pity on their side. But boys, oh no, molesting children is one thing but being a gay pedophile is worse than sacrificing virgins to Satan. Six percent worse, if I remember correctly. And don’t even ask about the Mormons or Scientologists, who apparently don’t have too much to do with any of it even though they’re still into crosses? Maybe you can explain that one to me.”
“Umm … yeah, I don’t know, they’re kind of their own thing, but I’m not really that knowledgeable about—”
“Okay, fine. Right, so we’re talking about staying away from the Catholics, I mean unless they pay up like the rest, which, God willing, won’t be a problem. But our clients at this point, whom I’m legally forbidden to name to you, are the Baptists and the Methodists and the Non-Denominationalists, hell, even the Episcopalians and—God help us—the Church of Christ-ers. And now that you mention the Mormons, I think I should probably find out if they want in on this, too. Everly? You hear that? Get me someone over with the Mormons, I want to find out if they’re looking for a new PR campaign. Sorry, Gideon, gotta get that down before I forget. Anyhow, there are a bunch of others in there, too. I’m looking at a list, and it says the Congregationalists are paying a pretty penny, and I’ll be honest, I don’t know if anyone over here in the office knows who they are. Maybe you can help me out with them, too, while you’re at it. Oh, and the best part is, because it’s churches hiring us out, we’re getting a hefty tax write-off for the whole affair, which Schwarzwelder will just fucking love.”
“I don’t really know who they are, either. What exactly is the ‘whole affair’?”
“You’re a little tired, I can hear that even over the phone, and I understand that, son, I really do, but you’ve gotta stay quick, gotta keep on your toes. It’s all about making a spokesperson who can show up on talk shows and appear in guest spots, maybe voice a game character or pop up in the next Disney movie as a talking walrus.”
“I’m, uhh, happy to help out with the project, but I don’t really want to take my eyes off Gravedigger.”
“I’m not saying you’ve done bad work there, in fact quite the opposite. I think it was really your effort that made the project a success, but it’s time you transitioned into something else. When I hired you, it was because your work on the GWoF made me think you were an idea guy, and I don’t want my idea guys stuck micromanaging. I can tell you’re getting a little bored with that stuff anyhow. Had your success, got it running smoothly, and now you’re coasting. An idea man like you can’t just coast, you have to keep moving. You’re like a shark, you stop swimming and you suffocate.”
“I really feel like I’m—”
“I understand, I understand. You won’t be taken off your old beat immediately. You can keep an eye on Gravedigger, make sure the next release is a hit, goes a couple platinum or diamond or whatever, but I want you to find a replacement. Let someone else manage the virtual star. It keeps bringing in dividends, for sure, but it’s not going to have the growth it did early on—there’s a finite number of fans, I always say. Finite number of people in the world, you have to remember, and how many of those even listen to music? When you hit the limit, you have to recognize it. Nothing wrong with your work, but that project’s just not gonna grow much more. That’s the problem I always have with bankers, they think they’re working in a system with infinite returns when we’ve got some real-world limitations. I’m only concerned about the real world in front of me, the concrete things I can touch. That’s why Jesus just won’t cut it.”
“That makes sense, I guess.”
“Damn right it does. Reason why I want you to head up the Prophet Project is because you’ve got experience building up personalities. The Wall was clever, but Gravedigger was more than that, it was also a lot of hard work. You backed that idea with a lot of elbow grease, and I respect that. Some damn good micromanaging, and that’s what I like to see, not just a bunch of ideas being slung around without any follow-through. This time we need to figure out a real person, though, can’t leave this one on computers screens. Need to build someone who can be touched, who’s got a firm handshake. Hai—our clients are adamant about that fact.”
“Couldn’t we just pick anyone, then? I mean, you kind of … what about the president, for instance?”
“Knew you were a smart man. I always told ’em that, whatever they said about your working methods, about you needing to come into the office once in a while. I asked our client that myself. I said, ‘That’s a great idea to create a new icon for Christianity. The president’s a religious man, a patriotic man, shouldn’t he be the face of the religion?’ Thought I’d use some synergy there, get the ball rolling much quicker. But I was told they think he’s too old for the job. They want someone younger, someone who can stick around for a while. Like what Tom Cruise did for Scientology, just without all the crazy. Gotta have someone young, someone without all that end-of-the-world baggage. That works for politics, I always tell our candidates that you want some sort of a threat there, want to tell them that if they don’t elect you, the Iranians will start sending in the nukes. People think threat, they think power, and they vote for that power. But we need someone softer, need a Christian who they’d go and have a drink with, maybe a casual fuck with. He wouldn’t need to call ’em back, but they’d have a good memory of the night and laugh about it later. Sure, he’ll quote the Bible every now and then, kiss babies and do some glad-handing, but I want someone who’d look good on a red carpet. Got some tech boys working on boots that could help the guy walk on water if they’re still not convinced. Important thing is that he’s getting ’em into churches.”
“Isn’t there a small matter of, like, scripture? I mean, the Bible’s all about God and Jesus and that sort of thing. There’s nothing in there about this … prophet?”
“Son, religion is just a different type of story, a narrative people happen to base their silly little lives on. People kill for it and die for it and do all sorts of crazy shit for it, but that doesn’t make it any less a story. And what do you do when you need to change their lives? Why, you just change the story is all. Don’t worry about that step, our clients already have the fundies in their pockets and have assured me it’ll be no problem. You find us the candidate and we’ll rewrite the narrative to fit them.”
“So I’m in charge of this project?”
“Not yet, no. Officially there is no Prophet Project. Just need you to start the research, get people looking in the right direction. Need to figure out if this guy is the next messiah or if he’s still talking about Jesus. Is he black or white, or maybe Hispanic? They’re a big vote, and seem like religious folks to me. But then again, if he’s not white, then you’ll probably get a lot of hicks calling to have him lynched. Could end ugly, could result in a shooting, gotta consider that angle. I can get my risk analysis boys onto that right now if you need it. What clothes is he going to endorse? Probably going to need some really clever ways of staying away from the whole abortion question, because I don’t think our backers are going to know what to do with that.”
“Is there money in the budget for a research trip?”
“Hell, with the deep pockets on these clients, there’s money in the budget for a research trip to the moon. Could get a close-up look at the newest ads, ha-ha. Anyhow, fly wherever you want, do your research from the Bahamas for all I care. I gotta run, nephew’s got a play or something in a few minutes and I keep getting texts about it from the wife. I’ll have my secretary email you some of the preliminaries to get you up to speed on the whole shebang. The important thing is that wherever you go, you get started on this ASAP.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Holly let the stroke linger, enjoying the way her smooth sable marten brush caressed the coarse canvas to create a line that was close to, though not exactly the same as, how she’d envisioned it in her head. She took a step back, looked at the canvas from farther away and wondered what to do next.
She couldn’t continue. A drop of thick oil paint fell from her brush onto the floor while she stood there thinking and rethinking what she’d spent the week creating. What if the next stroke would ruin the entire piece, would create another disappointment? Each one held that possibility. Every movement she made was an earthquake that could bring the entire structure tumbling down into disaster. She couldn’t even remember when she’d last been happy with something she created, and it had been a struggle even to start a piece lately, the pile of recent failures growing exponentially at the back of her studio.
Early last week, Holly had thought she’d finished working on the painting that she’d been struggling with for the previous month, and it still rested on her easel on the far side of the room. Its inspiration had been Robert, though in a circular enough manner that she didn’t feel guilty about the way it “commented on” (i.e. attacked) his work. After she’d first moved in, enjoying the bliss of life away from her family and all the non-artistic endeavors that used to suck up her time, she’d coaxed Robert into letting her see his earlier work. His older sketches weren’t that good, but they always had a strong point of view. He tended to draw exaggerated faces, reducing people and items to objects of ridicule through cruel physiognomy. His attitude toward the subject was almost always nasty. A few exaggerated lines and he transformed anyone into a monster.
After seeing Robert’s work, Holly’d stopped enjoying drawing faces. Every line she drew, every speck on the canvas meant implicit judgment on the subject. And it was rarely complex judgment either: the basic tools were hagiography or snark. This last work had been an attempt to move past her hang-ups.
So she’d taken a picture of some random man off Arcadia, someone she’d never met or heard of. Then she’d painted her version of his portrait as accurately as she could. She spent hours, days on his portrait, making sure the skin pigmentation was just right and that the shadows made his cheekbones look as pronounced as they were in the photo. After all that painstaking time on his face, Holly carefully crafted a background behind him that she thought fit his features. It was a sort of lounge setting, and she thought the room’s dark lighting made the cracks on his lips look like he had experience and wisdom.
Afterward, she’d painted over his body and face with white, negating any possible judgment lingering in her portraiture. Finishing the still-unnamed painting had made her feel cheerful, like she still was a painter.
But then she’d realized her mistake: she could still see the shape of that face, could therefore judge the man it was supposed to represent. The silhouette was still there. Holly spent hours making it more ghostly, blending his afterimage into the background, but nothing could get rid of the implicit criticism, the damned simplification, even though she couldn’t make him out any longer. She could paint over the entire work entirely, at which point it was questionable whether it would still be a painting of a man or just a blank canvas. Robert wouldn’t’ve hesitated—he could’ve sold the hell out of a seemingly blank canvas with that much backstory. But she was not Robert.
So she’d decided to try a more direct approach to portraits, and even five minutes earlier it had seemed like this new one might break the streak, might be something truly worthwhile, but now she couldn’t even take its presence in the room. She took the unfinished, perhaps unfinishable painting off the easel and faced it toward the opposite wall. The man it was supposed to capture was a friend of Robert’s who’d commissioned this work, and she didn’t know what to do about that.
“He saw some of your stuff online and really liked it,” Robert had told her, though she knew this was, if not a lie, then certainly a half-truth. The only way his friend might have discovered her work would have been if Robert had led him there, had put him up to it. It was a sweet gesture, kind of, but just made her feel worse about herself. And it wasn’t like she could say no. She had to act like this was something she wanted to do or else she’d be the jerk here.
Holly lay down on her crusty, paint-spattered couch and rested her laptop on her chest, looking for any distraction. She didn’t know what she’d say when Robert asked how things were going. She knew she’d lie, but that didn’t help her feel any better. She hadn’t been able to talk to him about work in a long time now, because every time she did, she explained to him that she didn’t know what was wrong, and he just said that the next piece would turn out better. Did he really think those words were true, or that they meant something? Here he was winning awards and his only words of consolation were essentially, better luck next time.
