“Jesus loves you, yes he does, brothers and sisters.”
Oily and insincere, Owen Cudworth flashed a $20,000 smile directly to camera.
“Call now and claim your piece of miracle burial cloth. Operators are standing by.”
Jump cut to testimony #3.
“Pastor, this lady was on welfare. She has 6 kids and couldn’t feed ‘em. Then she sent for the miracle burial cloth and within three days she received a miracle blessing $2,000,000 State lottery win.”
“Praise Jesus. Folks don’t deny yourselves the healing power of the miracle burial cloth. Call now: for your gift of $50 up you’ll receive your own piece of miracle burial cloth and I’m even including my special miracle claiming instructions telling you exactly how to use it.”
Fade to testimony #4.
“Pastor, praise the Lord, this lady had cancer. She called us and got her very own miracle cloth and placed it right over the tumour. Her doctor now says the tumour has completely disappeared. Pastor, this lady would not have been alive today without the miracle cloth.”
The background music swelled as Pastor Cudworth gave his final call to action.
“Folks, if you have loved ones who need help; if you have financial difficulties; if you have health difficulties then know that the solution is just a phone call away. Don’t deny yourself any longer. Call now and get your very own miracle burial cloth. Prosper in Jesus and may the Lord walk with you all of your days.”
Owen unclipped his microphone and walked over to the floor director. From his expression to his gait it was clear to everyone on set that Owen was ‘mightily displeased’, as he was fond of saying. Owen pulled the director to one side.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re supposed to keep that damn camera on me until I look away. That’s my money shot, you piece of shit. If we don’t get the requisite number of donations tonight I’m gonna whup your ass. Dumbass.”
‘Pastor’ Owen walked off, satisfied that he had put the fear of god into the little man. Owen enjoyed the power and wealth that his tv evangelism brought him. And it’s not like he didn’t believe. Well, he did believe, a long time ago, but he’d found he made more money by concentrating on making sure others believed. The target audience was so huge it was impossible not to get a good following and Owen knew all about creating a following. In his youth he’d been a very promising actor until he’d had the call.
…..
The young assistant knocked and waited respectfully for permission to enter the inner sanctum.
“Come in.”
Owen was stripped to his underwear and the assistant wasn’t sure where to look. This was one part of the job no assistant ever enjoyed.
“$101,497. Tell shit for brains he’s lucky tonight. We scraped through.”
“Yes sir.”
The assistant made for the door, but the silken voice of Pastor Owen enveloped him like a cold fog in winter.
“Stay a while. I just opened some whisky. Would you like a drink?”
“Sir, I don’t drink.”
“Then sit and talk a spell. Let’s get acquainted. What’s your name? How old are you? Did you finish high school, boy?”
Questions like machine gun fire. Difficult to take cover from all the bullets.
“I’m 19 sir. Jesse. They call me Jesse.”
“You a jesse, boy?”
Pleased with his play on words Owen began chuckling to himself, now drinking straight from the bottle. Slowly, the chuckling turned into humming, then singing. Then shouting. Jesse felt uneasy, but knew enough to sit quietly, watching as Owen suckled at the familiar teat of his friend, Jack Daniels.
“Get out, boy. Go.”
Jesse didn’t need to be told twice. He left the room without a backward glance, for fear of the countermand signal being given.
“Damn pretty boys. Ruse of the devil. Out to get me, for sure.”
Booze induced sleep poured over Owen, until he could no longer keep his eyes open, or remember why he felt horny.
Owen woke with an urgent need for the bathroom. A quart or so later, he flushed and then washed his hands. Another day, another dollar. Time to see how they’d done last night and plan next month’s healing campaign in Texas.
“Alex, get me some coffee in here and rustle up something to eat. No, I don’t care what, just see to it, will you?”
He put the phone down and wondered how long it would take the fat, lazy, good-for-nothing, street-walker to fix him breakfast. Why he’d hired her he couldn’t remember, but every time he woke like this he promised himself she’d be toast before the day was out. He’d been promising himself that for six months and yet Alex was still there.
Alex brought in the breakfast tray. As she poured the coffee she took out a small packet of photos and handed it to Owen. As his personal assistant she wielded considerable power herself and saw to it that the junior assistants were always fine young men, pretty rather than athletic. She knew Owen’s tastes better than Owen did.
“What are these?”
“Have a look. We’ll discuss settlement terms after.”
“What?”
“Just look, Mary. Then we’ll talk.”
Owen realised exactly why Alex felt so comfortable. She’d handed him a set of photos which would see him in jail with his fortune seized. He’d be ruined. He did not remember the acts of depravity from last night, but he did remember that the new boy had been particularly…to his liking. Fear knocked on the doors of his heart, demanding entrance.
“It’s simple, Owen. Half your fortune – forever – or you’ll go to prison – forever. I hear they have special treatment for your kind of criminal.”
The Photoshop course she’d attended while in prison herself had been very useful after all. That and finding a boy willing to pose for the incriminating pictures for a trifling $1,000. The blackmail that followed was clever and detailed. Owen succumbed to the potent combination of fear, greed and lust that Alex brewed. In truth, he could afford the money and Alex’s suggestions made a lot of sense.
They were married, live on air, a month later. If anyone had had suspcicions about Pastor Owen in the past, the marriage certainly helped quell them.
Alex continued to interview for assistants and continued to find as many pretty boys as she had before. Only this time she made sure she was to their taste.
Besides, she was sharing his fortune: she might as well share his boys.
© 2006 write-now. All rights reserved. No reproduction without express permission.
This story was based on dictionary.com’s word of the day. Requisite.
[Author's note: As a Christian myself I find some of the tv evangelists an affront to my faith. Several of them, US and UK, have been arrested for various improprieties over the last few years. All names are purely fictional as are all the characters depicted.]
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