Chapter 10
"Where did it come from?" Grace demanded.
"Christ, I don't know!" Fred snapped.
"Well, don't bark at me like that," Grace responded with a sigh.
"Sorry," Fred apologized quickly. "This is going to play holy hell with us."
Both were referring to an article in the local gossip column in the newspaper. In a chatty, slicing paragraph, the gossip columnist asked, "Who are the prominent people devoting so much time and money to building a wife-swapping commune?"
"If it stops there," Grace suggested, "maybe it won't bother anybody."
"It won't stop there," Fred sighed.
Fred was, of course, right. The following morning the gossip column carried a longer, more detailed mention of the swinger's community project.
"It's being whispered about among people in the know," the gossip columnist wrote, "that a large condominium project for swinging marrieds is about to begin construction. Reportedly located near Portland, this wife-swapping paradise will be one of the first of its kind in the country. Oregon is noted for its sophisticated attitude, but some may believe that this is going a little too far. California and Florida are noted for their Disneylands and amusement parks. Will this wife-swapper's paradise become Oregon's claim to fame?"
Harold Morgan called an emergency meeting of the group involved with the project. The atmosphere in Harold's living room was tense and angry.
"The snotty, sarcastic sonofabitch!" Linda remarked.
"She should have an accident," Betty Morgan added.
"She already did," Linda retorted. "She was hatched!"
"Okay, okay, girls," Harold said with raised hands to quiet the room. His concern was etched on his face. Deep lines creased his forehead and his eyes shone dully in the dark circles that surrounded them.
Looking at him, Grace reminded herself that the aging swinger had one hundred thousand dollars invested in the project. That was ample reason for his concern.
"I suppose," Ed Jackson remarked, "that we're here to discuss how all of this publicity will affect the project."
"Right," Betty Morgan said. "Harold's worried ..."
"You bet your sweet ass I'm worried," Harold interrupted. "And we'd all better be worried. Fred, how do you react to all of this?"
"I don't like it..." Fred began.
"Who does?" Ed quipped. "But I don't see why we should stop construction on the project just because some smart ass got hold of the information and wants to sell a few papers on gossip."
"Do you agree, Fred?" Harold persisted, anxious to hear the opinion of the person he considered the most level-headed in the group.
"No, I'm afraid I don't," Fred responded. "Let me express it from a personal standpoint. Grace and I are buying a unit and will live in the project, but at this particular moment I really don't think we'd even consider moving in."
"Why, for god's sake?" Ed demanded.
"Because we're not anxious to be known as famous swingers," Grace replied.
"Exactly," Fred added. "If this keeps up, and I believe it will, they'll be selling tickets to a tourist attraction. 'See the people in that community? They're swingers. Why, that woman there is probably on her way to an orgy at this very minute.' " Fred offered in a tone mimicking a tour guide.
"Well also be subjected to constant pressure from the local authorities," Grace commented.
"So what can they do?" Linda asked. "Oregon law..."
"They can make life miserable, even if we're not really breaking the law," Fred added. "But that isn't my point. If Grace and I are now reluctant to move in, how many other couples will even consider buying?"
"Precisely!" Harold Morgan agreed. "And that could spell financial disaster for the project, as well as those of us behind it."
"But if we abandon it now," Ed said, "won't that be equally disastrous financially? As I understand it, our money is already committed."
"Ed's right about that," Linda insisted, fighting against hope that she would not see her swinger's community dream vanish in thin air.
"Unless we convert it to a straight community," Fred said.
"Can it be done?" Harold asked quickly. "I mean, can we turn it into a standard residential project?"
"I can't see why not," Fred replied. "Unless this asshole prints the exact location tomorrow morning and blows the whole thing for us."
"How long would it take?" Harold asked nervously.
"Well," Fred responded slowly, "it would probably take a good deal longer to sell it out as a straight project. Some of these condominiums take years to complete. Of course, if we aimed it at a special group-like perhaps a retirement center."
"Who in the hell is going to retire in the Portland area?" Ed laughed. "Even the ducks fly south when they get too old to battle this constant drizzle of ours!"
"Or a religious group," Grace offered.
"A religious group!" Harold cried with obvious delight. Even the creases in his forehead seemed to disappear. "The Children of God!"
"Old Dr. Edmonds and his fanatics," Betty laughed.
"They've been after us to make a contribution for months," Harold explained.
"The Children of God?" Fred asked.
"A fundamentalist group," Harold explained. "Hellfire and damnation. Why don't we donate a piece of land to them for a church? Then we'll offer the subdivision to their fanatics. If we handle it right and donate the land today, well get a press release in the morning. That should cut the feet out from under that columnist!"
Over the constant objections of Ed and Linda Jackson who fought every inch of the way to preserve their swinger's community, the group decided on a plan to turn the land into a religious community with a large church that would eventually operate the project.
Acting with a degree of haste that worried Fred McElhaney, Harold called Dr. Edmonds and invited him to come over for a chat. Linda and Ed left in somewhat of a huff when they could see that their objections were for naught. Fred and Grace remained at Harold and Betty's urging.
"I don't want to face this sanctimonious sonofabitch alone," Harold laughed. "He might annoy me enough to tell him that his religious community will be built on pecker tracks!"
"What would have become a sexual paradise," Grace chuckled. "I doubt his type would believe it."
Dr. Edmonds arrived, his thick, white mane of hair carefully waved and sprayed into place. He wore a black suit and a white turtleneck and carried a leather bound bible under his arm. Dr. Edmonds was a mass of unctuous smiles as he greeted the four people in the luxurious Morgan living room.
Grace saw his eyes flick around the room in an obvious dollar appraisal of the Morgans' possessions while Harold carefully explained his plan to help the good minister build a religious community for his followers. The greed in Dr. Edmonds' eyes made Grace hate the man, but she forced a smile on her lips every time he glanced at her. "My dear, generous Mr. Morgan," the minister began in his deep, honey sweet tones, "God has indeed smiled upon both of us. If I may say so, this illustrates the power of prayer to the All Mighty. Just yesterday I asked my congregation to pray for His guidance to help us find a new, worthy house for our worship of Him. And He promptly sent His word through you, Mr. Morgan. You must be one of His anointed."
"There is a practical aspect to all of this, Doctor," Harold said, hoping to forestall a sermon. He went on to discuss in detail the project he had in mind for the Children of God center. "I want to make it perfectly clear that I expect no profit from this project. I do expect a full return of the investment capital I will put up to launch the project, and that will come from the bank trust well open tomorrow."
Fred smiled when Harold made the last point. He was in effect telling the minister that the church would never lay a finger on his capital, but Fred doubted that the Dr. Edmonds saw or understood the reference.
The newspaper reporter and photographer Harold had called arrived and pictures were made of Harold and Betty with Dr. Edmonds. The reporter asked a number of questions as he made notes for his story.
"That old bastard scares me," the photographer remarked quietly to Grace McElhaney while the rest stood on the other side of the room talking about the project. "I'd rather see the old goat shot with a gun than a camera. He's so oily he can slide through the syrup he lays on those followers of his."
"I agree," Grace remarked with a mild shudder. "But at the paper we've got to play him up," the photographer continued, "because his congregation is so damned big. I think our chief editor is scared to death of the pressure the old goat could bring on us."
"And the 'meek shall inherit the earth,' " Grace remarked. "What?"
"A quotation from the bible."
"Look, lady, if you're a devoted follower of the group, I didn't mean any offense."
"You did," Grace replied with a smile, "and you're lucky I'm not a follower, as you put it."
"Boy for a minute there you really scared me," the photographer said.
"You and your editor, and all of the minority pressure groups scare the living hell out of me," Grace returned. "You detest that man over there as much as I do. You know that he and his kind mold people into convenient shapes merely to satisfy his own goals, and yet you'll help him just because you're afraid hell bring some pressure to bear."
"Look, lady," the photographer replied, "you're part of the group giving him the ground on which he can plant his feet, not me."
"You're right," Grace sighed, "and I almost wish we'd turned it into a giant California-style massage parlor."
"Can I quote you on that?"
"If you do, I'll sue you and castrate you at the same time," Grace replied in a tone of voice that left no room for doubt that she meant what she'd said.