proposals, hoping Krieg would get discouraged or resigned, or lose interest, or experience any reaction that would cause him to cease and desist. But nothing seemed to work.
Things got even more intense after the publication of David’s third and latest book nearly a year ago.
David’s continued success triggered an increased effort by Krieg to sign him. But oddly, the Reverend’s communications no longer called for a formal reply. In fact, Krieg’s missives now consisted almost entirely of propaganda highlighting P.G. Press’s achievements. Krieg made quite clear what manner of success he envisioned for David once he were to enter the fold. His overtures required no reply; they merely overflowed with information about the rosy future beckoning David.
Under the weight of all this literature, and freed of the necessity to respond, David read all or most of what he was sent from P.G. Press, then filed it all in the wastebasket. But he had to wonder where all this was leading.
The other shoe had dropped some six months ago with an invitation to the Reverend and Mrs. Benbow to visit P.G. Enterprises just outside Mission Viejo, California.
Martha said it was quite out of the question for her. She had several major closings scheduled, and trusted no one else to handle them. But she strongly encouraged him to go. It would be a nice break for him; he needed one; no sense waiting for her to have time for a vacation, not with sales doing so well.
Finally, with many misgivings, David accepted the invitation. All that Martha said was true. He needed the refreshment of some time off and away. And in truth, he was curious to see for himself the complex institution that was P.G. Enterprises. The compelling argument he gave himself was that the visit might end Krieg’s full-court press to sign him to a contract. David had said no to the proposition in every possible way but face to face.
It was at the end of March-not a bad time to trade Illinois weather for that of Southern California-that David Benbow visited P.G. Enterprises, all expenses paid.
On arrival, David was given a complete tour of the vast complex. He was properly impressed. He had no reason to doubt Krieg’s characterization of the television studios as state-of-the-art. The cathedral itself was a gigantic atrium that ascended endlessly toward heaven.
During that extended weekend, David was ushered about by interchangeably bright, mostly blond, young men and women, who seemed never to stop smiling. His quarters were flawless. His every want was seen to, in many cases anticipated.
Friday and Saturday evenings he dined with the Reverend and Mrs. Klaus Krieg. Mrs. Krieg-“just call me Betsy”-seemed to dote on every word that fell from anyone’s lips, but especially those of her husband. As far as David could determine, Betsy had no original thoughts-nor, for that matter, many thoughts at all. But she was gorgeous and well kept. David quickly learned to enjoy looking at her and to expect nothing of substance from her. Betsy and her husband appeared to get on wonderfully. He treasured her and she appreciated him and all he provided for her.
Sunday night, David’s final evening in this lavish complex, was memorable. He sensed it would be even before he learned he would be dining alone with the Reverend Krieg.
If everything, particularly the meals, during these three days had been without flaw, tonight’s dinner was as close to perfection as one could come this side of heaven. It seemed that Krieg had somehow researched Benbow’s eating habits. Nearly all David’s favorites were served: vichyssoise, Caesar salad, lamb (medium-rare), new red potatoes, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, red fruit gelatin, double chocolate cake.
The preludial white wine gave way to a fine red with the meat. Coffee was served, and a bottle of cognac placed on the table.
Krieg lit a cigar and contentedly exhaled a thick cloud of aromatic smoke. As far as Benbow was able to tell, Krieg smoked cigars at every opportunity except when someone present would be offended. Although he was not a smoker, David enjoyed the aroma of both pipe and cigar. Krieg apparently knew that. Not once did he ask David; somehow he knew.
Krieg seemed to examine the cigar as he spoke. “Have you enjoyed the weekend?”
David smiled. “That has to be a rhetorical question.”
Krieg returned the smile. “Good, good. I was hoping it would be restful. It pays to get away from the grind from time to time.”
“How about yourself, Klaus?” They had been on a first-name basis from the moment David arrived. He knew some referred to Krieg as “Blitz” but this privilege of so addressing him had not been extended.
“Me?”
“Yes, there’s no sign that you ever take a break.”
“This. .” Krieg’s expansive gesture seemed to encompass the entire P.G. kingdom, “. . this is my vacation. It’s all I wanted. All I ever aimed for.”
“More?” Krieg leaned toward the coffee pot.
“No, that’s plenty. What a marvelous dinner!”
“Yes, it was good, wasn’t it?” Without asking, Krieg filled the bottom curve of two snifters with cognac and offered one to Benbow. “Come. .”Krieg stood. “Let’s go to the gallery.”
Taking their glasses with them, the two moved out onto an arcaded balcony three stories above the grounds. P.G. Enterprises was built on elevated terrain. From this vantage, they could easily view the countryside. The evening lights of Mission Viejo, largely residential, were beginning to go on.
It was a cool, pleasant evening; the view was tranquil, a perfect dinner was being serenely digested; the cognac generated an agreeable burning sensation in his throat. “God’s in His heaven; all’s right with the world,” came to mind. But somehow, God seemed to have very little to do with any of this. Strange; the place was named for Him. P.G.: Praise God. Ostensibly, God’s work was being done here. The two standing on this balcony were men of God. But there was no denying David’s conviction that God was at best a secondary figure in P.G. Enterprises.
After a prolonged silence, Krieg spoke. “It’s not the panorama of Chicago-your country-or for that matter the hills of San Francisco, or the skyline of New York, but it is restful, peaceful. . don’t you think?”
Benbow nodded wordlessly.
“You know, David,” Krieg went on, “there is one thing that hasn’t been mentioned once during your stay here.”
Benbow very well knew what had been missing: the point of it all-his signing a contract to write for P.G. Press. However, he kept silent.
“This is a beautiful site,” Krieg went on, “in a beautiful corner of the world, where the weather is always beautiful. Don’t you feel it, David? Isn’t this a bit of heaven on earth?”
Benbow gave this a few moments’ thought, then said, “I’d have to agree: It’s all you say it is.”
“Then you can understand why we want to share it with everyone we can. It’s like wanting every human soul to be admitted to the eternal presence of God in that heavenly land where there are many mansions.”
Benbow recognized the familiar tone that he’d heard so often while watching the messianic presence of the Reverend Klaus Krieg on television. Does he turn himself on, David wondered. Is it a self-fulfilling wish? “Wait a minute, Klaus. I thought we were only indulging in figures of speech. This place may be ‘a bit of heaven on earth’ metaphorically, but it’s not literally heaven. We’ve got to go some before we get there. And I’m confident that the real heaven will be beyond the wildest dreams of even P.G. Enterprises.”
Krieg guffawed. “Of course, David. . of course. You gotta pardon an old war-horse who’s never quite left tent revival meetings behind him. Bit of an exaggeration there, I’m afraid.
“But seriously, you know, if you were to become a member of the team, so to speak, this would be a second home to you. We’d put it right in the contract.” His expansive gesture included everything within the horizon, the greensward, the sky, Mission Viejo with its twinkling fairytale lights and superb climate. “All of this, David-all of this would be yours.” Pause. “Praise God!”
Krieg’s words struck a resounding chord in Benbow’s memory. Didn’t he know, David wondered; wasn’t he
