Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [26]
The teacher shook his head and leaned toward Brady, whispering, “I’ll deny I ever said this, but you’re better than my star pupil. Alex is going places, and he’ll have some fun. But he’s limited by his frame, his voice. His type is a dime a dozen. But a big Travolta type like you? The sky’s the limit, Brady. And don’t be tempted to think then that education isn’t important. You and I both know that if you drop out of school, you’ll never really pursue this. I don’t expect you to be a scholar, but please, please, for me but mostly for you, do what you have to to stay eligible.”
Brady didn’t know what to say. He just nodded.
“And I need a favor,” Mr. Nabertowitz said. “Alex’s parents are coming this afternoon to ‘talk,’ and I want them to meet you. I frankly think that if they can put a face to the name, it’ll be harder for them to demonize you, know what I mean?”
“Not really, but I’ll meet them, sure.”
“Be on your best behavior. Watch your temper. Maybe you could even say something nice about Alex.”
“Like what? The kid’s an—”
“Come, come. Surely you can tell he’s got talent. You don’t have to say anything about his personality or character. You want to be an actor? Muster something.”
“Whatever. Doesn’t it kill him that Mommy and Daddy are coming to fight for him?”
“Oh, it’s not being represented that way at all. They’re just coming to watch rehearsal. They want to talk to me after, of course, and only an imbecile would wonder why, but let’s play along.”
“They can’t talk you into him replacing me, can they?”
“Oh, heavens no! Don’t worry about that.”
Oldenburg
Thomas took a call from Grace and worried that she still sounded weary. “You doing okay?” he said.
“I’m fine, hon. Just wanted you to know I would be praying during your meeting.”
“And have you talked with Rav?”
“I can’t yet, Thomas. There’s nothing I could say that she doesn’t already know. We’ll have to talk with her together, let her know we still love her, love her unconditionally. We do, don’t we?”
“Of course.”
At five minutes before two, Paul Pierce burst in without knocking. “Well, look who’s working!” he said, smiling and reaching across the desk to shake hands. “Tom, Tom, the preacher man!”
“Good afternoon, Paul.”
“Come take a walk with me, Tom. Stuffy in here.”
“Well, there are matters we need to discuss.”
“I know that. That’s why I’m here! C’mon.”
Thomas followed him out and they strolled the property. “I thought we should talk about the supervision of the other church bodies,” Thomas said.
“All in good time. I’ve got a couple of sheets I want to show you about how I plan to supervise ’em, and I’ve got a plan for a—what do you call it?—installation service for you.”
“For me?”
“And for Grace. Get all the churches to come here, since we’ve got a big enough building to hold ’em, and we’ll do up a nice deal—music, tributes, eats. What do you think?”
“Oh, well, Paul, I’m not sure that’s necessary. This work is not about—”
“Now just let us do it, Tom. Give honor where honor is due and all that. Patricia and I will handle everything. You and your bride just show up, okay?”
“I’ll talk to Grace about—”
“Just be a man, Tom, and tell her when it is. She’ll love it, believe me. We’ll do it next Sunday night.”
“I suppose that would be fine, and I appreciate it, Paul, but—”
“And you don’t have to even prepare a message. I mean, say a few words, sure, but don’t go to any trouble. In fact, if I can be frank with you, Tom, we need to talk a little about your preaching.”
Thomas wished he’d brought a jacket. The fall breeze was as irrepressible as Paul. “My preaching?”
“If you can call it that.” Paul laughed a little too loudly. “I’m joshin’ ya, Tom, but seriously. I know I’ve only heard you the two times, and both times it was the