“Is there anything else you want to tell me before we venture on?”
Steve looked at the ground.
“Steve, what’s going on?”
“I met a girl,” Steve said.
“Whoa.”
“She works for me.”
“And you want it to be more than that, huh?”
Steve said nothing. He felt like screaming, like the kids on the Ferris wheel.
“Who is she?” Gincy asked.
“Law student from DeWitt. There’s something else about her.”
“Now what?”
“She’s pretty religious.”
“She’s pretty and religious?”
“Okay, yeah.”
Gincy started laughing. He rocked back and let it go. “I love it!”
“What’s so funny?”
“God has a sense of humor, maestro. I mean, here you are, Mr. I-Can-Do-It-All-Myself, Mr. There’s-No-Higher-Power, and God hooks you up with a religious chick.”
“Don’t get all giddy about it. She wants to keep it strictly business.”
“But you don’t?”
“I don’t know, I—”
“Oh man! Look at that.”
Gincy pointed to that sledgehammer attraction. “Remember those cartoons where the guy knocks the bell off, he hits it so hard? That’s your stress level, dude.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Your divorce final?” Gincy asked.
“Almost. And Ashley wants me to move my stuff from the house.”
Gincy got his serious-sponsor look. “You been going to meetings?”
“Here and there.”
He put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Anything else you want to tell me? Aliens landing in your apartment maybe?”
“Isn’t that enough for one night?”
“You got it.” Gincy made the last of his cotton candy disappear. “You’re under a lot of stress. Maybe more than when you got hooked on blow. It’s all coming back.”
They moved on, past the milk-bottle pyramid and ping-pong-ball-in-the-cup game.
“So what’s your advice, sponsor of mine?” Steve said.
“My only advice is the same as always. Give up.”
“Excuse me?”
“Give up. Quit trying to do everything on your own. Go to the Higher Power. That’s how—”
“Not tonight, man.” Steve tossed the rest of his cotton candy into a trash can. “I’ve had to look out for myself for twenty years.”
“And what’s come of that?”
They were near one end of the carnival now. At a ride called the Zipper. Gincy turned to Steve, his eyes reflecting the red, blues, and greens of the carnival lights.
“You ever been on that?” Gincy pointed at the Zipper.
“I hate those rides.” The Zipper went around in a fast, tight oval, almost like a small Ferris wheel. But as it did, each individual car—more like cages—spun around, too. “If I got on that thing I’d color the inside pink.”
“You afraid?” Gincy said.
“I just don’t like ’em,” Steve said.
“You have to take a risk in this life, bubie. It looks scary to you, but it’ll take you to a whole new level.”
“I’m fine where I am, feet on the ground.”
“I don’t think you are.”
“When did you get a license to practice psychotherapy?”
“The day I met you, man. Wait here. And think about what I just told you.”
Gincy handed a ticket to the guy running the Zipper.
28
“The big question,” Sienna said, “is whether the church should incorporate as a 501(c)(3) or not. The main advantage is that it’s easier for people to give tax-deductible gifts. But there’s a theological question.”
She’d arrived at Steve’s office at two minutes before three on Friday afternoon. He poured them a couple of Diet Cokes from the little refrigerator, then sat at his desk. Her printed memo was in front of him. He’d read about half of it. The point was, she was here.
“We have to bring theology into it?” Steve said.
“It’s a church.”
“What’s the issue?”
“Motivation,” Sienna said.
“Meaning?”
“Why do they want to be a church? Is it out of theological purity, or is it just a tax dodge?”
Steve nodded. “I think they want a church so they can launder money.”
“What gave you that idea?” Sienna said.
“It’s Eldon LaSalle’s background. He got in trouble with the IRS before. And let’s face it, my brother is an ex-con.”
“You don’t believe people can change in prison?”
“I suppose it can happen.”
“You’ve seen your brother. Don’t you believe him?”
“I haven’t had enough time to believe him,” Steve said.
“Are you his lawyer?” Sienna said.
“I’m somebody’s lawyer. I just got a big fat retainer.”
“So there you are.”
“Where am I?”
“Hired. Count your blessings.”
“You see?” Steve said. “You had to bring theology into it again.”
She shook her head. “You can be a very annoying person when you put your mind to it.”
“That’s what the judges all say.”
When Sienna smiled, Steve counted it as a small but significant victory.
“There is another problem,” Steve said.
“And that is?”
“The old man, Eldon, is a bigot.”
She cocked her head but didn’t say anything.
“He wrote this crazy book about John Wilkes Booth and the goodness of slavery and don’t mix the races. I guess he’s