purse, headed for the door.
'Oh, well,' she said, 'win a few, lose a few-so it goes.' She waved at everyone remaining in the office. 'Ta!' she said, sparkling merrily.
At least she had a good attitude.
I gazed over the remaining faces. Judging by expressions alone, there wasn't much hope left. Except for one.
A tall, chestnut-haired woman sat bent over a sketch pad, making quick motions with a colored pencil. She glanced up at me, then at Ann.
'I'll go next,' she said in a voice as low, cool, and sharp-edged as chilled dry wine. 'It'll save you time, and you can send the others home before they embarrass themselves.'
The rest of the candidates muttered like discouraged coyotes.
'Over whose heads in particular do you not want to go?' she asked us.'Over anyone's,' I said.
Ann gave her the once-over about five times. 'It's an idea-saturation campaign. We want to reach everyone. People who aren't open to rational arguments. People who only respond to emotional assaults, such as the illiterate-or the intellectuals.'
The woman nodded and resumed her sketching. The other contenders watched in agitation. Her dark hair caught bits of light from here and there in the room to reflect a rich red-brown hue. As she scribbled, she spoke.
'If you want maximum impact, stick to simple symbols and wording. Now, what exactly are you trying to convey?'
I watched her long fingers at work. 'We want as many people as possible to get the impression that God will die on the first day of the year two thousand A.D.'
She wrote something at the top of the pad with swift, precise strokes. Several of the advertising hacks leaned over to see what she'd drawn.
One of them sighed, picked up his belongings, and made tracks.
After a moment of considering the finished product, she turned the sketch pad over to show Ann.
'I think that's it,' Ann said with a smile. 'Dell?'
The woman turned it toward me. Large letters blazed in sharp angles of crimson.
On the First Day of the Year 2000
God Will Die...
I nodded. She knew what to give the customer. Then I looked at the drawing below the slogan.
It was a fair likeness of God from the Michelangelo painting on the Sistine Chapel. A good choice. Most everyone in the Judeo-Christian world and a good deal of people outside it have seen that image in one form or another.
A black circle surrounded the Godhead. Rifle crosshairs intersected at a point directly over His left temple.
'That says it.' I stubbed out my cigarette. 'Thank you all for showing up,' I said to the others.
As they wandered out, Ann and I walked over to the woman. She stood. She was taller than I was.
'That symbol is going to be plastered all over the world,' I said. 'Whom do you work for, sister?'
'Nobody,' she said. 'I own an agency called McGuinneCorp. And my name's Kathleen, not `sister.''
I could see it would be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
15
Promotion
'That's outrageous!'
Emil Zacharias glared at me with such utter, raging hatred that I had to clench my teeth in order to remain smiling.
He sat behind his desk at the Culver City office of Hallelujah House. I hadn't figured on finding him there-I'd only wanted to leave a note about what I was planning. His secretary, though, apparently had been expecting me. I was ushered into a munificently well-appointed office about the size of a small cathedral. There he lounged, as calm and pouty as a pampered cat.
