The Program tr-2 Page 9
"I just transferred in from Brigham Young this semester. It's kind of…not been the easiest transition, you know? Are you a student here? You seem old. I mean, not that way, but…" Shanna's face colored again, her hand over her mouth. Substantial diamond studs gleamed in her ears. "Just don't pay attention to me, okay?"
The front doors of the Range Rover opened simultaneously. The two girls climbed out and headed toward them, the long-limbed driver smoothing a paisley cotton skirt over her underlying bell-bottom jeans. Tim figured them for friends of Shanna's – they'd clearly been waiting, keeping an eye on the Student Counseling Center.
The shorter girl wore a red T-shirt under a pair of overalls, her hair thrown back in a ponytail. "Hey, there. How you guys doing today?"
"Good," Shanna said uncertainly.
"I'm Julie, and this is Lorraine. We're having a group gathering tomorrow night at our apartment, and we wanted to invite you guys."
They showed off perfect smiles.
"Oh," Shanna said. "That's nice."
Lorraine reached out and touched Tim gently, her well-manicured nails tapping his forearm. "We're gonna have a great talk and drinks and everything."
Tim's mind moved instinctively to intolerance, hardwired from years of dealing with pyramid schemers, religious zealots, time-share hucksters. He was about to open his mouth to issue his customary rebuff when realization struck.
Julie, voice lowered with compassion, patted Shanna on the side. "You seem a little down."
Tim turned with Lorraine, who was beaming brightly and strolling to his side, facing him flirtatiously across the ball of her shoulder. Her auburn hair was pulled back severely in a clip so it conformed tightly to the shape of her head. He strained to hear Shanna's response to Julie, but Lorraine, still circling, said, "You're a bit mature to be a student here, aren't you?"
He feigned bashfulness. Putting his hands behind him, he worked off his wedding band and dropped it in the back pocket of his jeans. "Well, I hooked up with a great counselor when I went to GSBM. She still sees me on the side now and then when I hit a bump in the road."
Lorraine's eyes fluttered wide. "GSBM? I love business. A lot of us do. We're going to talk about things tomorrow night that could really help your career."
Shanna was now out of sight behind his back; Julie and Lorraine had skillfully maneuvered them apart so they were facing opposite directions.
Isolating the prey.
Lorraine nodded at the Student Counseling Center. "Sorry to hear that things are kind of shitty right now." She stroked his forearm again, lightly. Smelling of a fruity, pricey skin cream, she stood to his side, lipstick glimmering moistly, torso swaying slightly so her firm breasts moved beneath the sweetheart neckline of her blouse. Since the girls had approached in a team of two, Lorraine's come-on felt not threatening, but friendly and flattering. A confused college kid wouldn't stand a chance.
Campuses teem with predators – rapists, muggers, stalkers. But this particular brand, so appealingly packaged, was all the more insidious for its harmless demeanor.
Behind him he heard Julie say, "Your haircut's the bomb."
And Shanna's nervous giggle. "Thanks. I just got it done at Frederic Fekkai."
A whispered joke. The girls laughed together. Tim wanted to turn to look, but Lorraine was drilling him with eye contact. Though the two recruiters acted almost identically, Lorraine was less soft than Julie, the strings of her manipulation more visible.
Julie was the lure, Lorraine the closer.
"Anything you want to talk about?" Lorraine asked.
Tim chewed his lip, as if debating whether he should open up. "It's still hard for me to say, but I got, uh, divorced a few months ago -"
"That sucks. It must have been terrible."
"Pretty rough, yeah. And on top of it, work's been insanely stressful. I started up this little company a few years ago and grew it pretty aggressively. We were just bought out, which is great, but the ride hasn't exactly been relaxing, and now I'm sort of at loose ends about what to do with myself."
Her face held a predatory elation. "Having a company bought out? At your age? That's incredible." A warm smile. "What's your name? I want to remember it when I see it in the Wall Street Journal."
Tim fished out the last fake identity he'd used. "Tom Altman."
"We'd really love to have someone like you join us tomorrow. Will you come?"
"What kind of thing is it?"
"Just a lot of cool people hanging out, figuring out how to improve ourselves. That's important to you, isn't it?"
"I don't know." Tim shook his head. "It sounds a little weird."
"I bet you didn't get a company bought out by thinking inside the box."
"Nope. I did it by figuring out how to fit square pegs in round holes."
Tom Altman, dream Neo.
Lorraine said, "There ya go."
"Hey." Shanna was on her tiptoes, looking at him over Julie's shoulder. "What do you think? Are you gonna go? I'll go if you do."
Julie grinned. "It's gonna be really eye-opening, Tom." Even while working Shanna, she'd kept an ear out for his name. "What do you say?"
"Sure," he said. "I'll check it out."
Lorraine and Julie squealed with delight. "Great call! I promise it'll be worthwhile."
Julie wrote down the address for Tim. Lorraine offered Shanna a ride back to her dorm, and they all turned to the parking lot. Tim stopped short. Dinged and dented beside the Range Rover, the Acura Integra was not a car befitting Tom Altman. Not a car befitting a deputy U.S. marshal either – Tim had pulled it out of a junkyard last year when he'd needed an untraceable vehicle. He hesitated, not wanting to broadcast ownership.
The three headed to the Range Rover. It was new – no license plate to memorize.
Julie glanced back. "You need a lift to your car or something?"
"No. I think I left my keys inside."
As he started back toward the trailer, the Range Rover pulled out behind him, Shanna waving from the backseat.
Chapter eleven
Leah spent the morning polishing the Teacher's shoes with another Lily, a plump, timid girl named Nancy. You had to be a virgin to be a Lily; in fact, only virgins were allowed in the Teacher's cottage. More than a hundred pairs of shoes were lined on shelves in the walk-in closet off TD's front room, each with its own jar of polish. A laminated sheet of paper tacked to the inside of the closet door held directions – counterclockwise circles, no excess polish, be sure to turn your head from the shoes if you sneeze.
Nancy kept applying too much polish to the heels, and Leah wiped it off for her, showing her how to apply the correct amount. Leah found the monotony of the task soothing, as the Teacher had promised.
Wax on, wax off. Perfection in the details, character through process.
The wisps of black-dyed hair sticking out at Nancy's temples were almost as baffling as the Flashdance-cut sweatshirt she wore off one fleshy shoulder. Nancy sat back on her heels, working a loafer, arms jiggling, her circles going clockwise. "Dr. TD says I have a need to infuriate men. He says he can tell from how I act."
"How do you act?"
"Difficult, I guess. I keep messing up the rules. I can't keep them all straight. He says I'm vengeful. I hold back a lot from male authority. I don't have the strength to Get with The Program yet."
They kept polishing, Leah's eyes darting between her own work and Nancy's. "Nancy. You have to do the circles the other way. Like this. It's an honor being able to practice on TD's stuff."
"I know, I know. Damnit. I'm sorry." Nancy's lips trembled. "There's so much pressure here I can't think, you know? Everyone's telling me what I do wrong all the time."
Leah's mouth moved with the answers before she even thought. "You want to take ownership of your choices. You know you're responsible for your own experience."
Nancy was crying now. "If I screw up any more, I'll be gone. I don't know what I'd do without Dr. TD, without The Program."
Nancy sniffled and wiped her nose. It struck Leah that her pity felt more like empathy. Nancy's bad dye job tugged at her heart -like any superficial attempt at change, it would be met with customary disinterest from the world. Nancy would never get anywhere until she stopped setting herself up for failure. She wouldn't find strength in mirrors and the expectations of others.
Nancy touched Leah's shoulder, leaving a black smudge. "I'm sorry. You were right. I think I'm just emotional right now." She tried a smile, but her lips were still trembling.
The polishing took nearly two hours and left them with cramped hands and polish smeared up to their wrists. They each did their best to wash up in the bathroom. As they finished, TD entered. He'd been conducting a meeting in the modular with Stanley John, a young commercial-real-estate shark who was his second in command.
TD wore a polo shirt, untucked over a pair of pleated cargo pants that accentuated his slim, girlish hips. His freckles were pale, as if faded from childhood; they extended even to his ears and lips. Just below his mouth, a neatly trimmed patch of hair bristled. His head seemed slightly too small, even for his thin frame, a minor imperfection he'd brilliantly overcome by wearing his coarse brown hair puffed out. Leah had never experienced someone so capable of projecting his mood.
She kept her eyes lowered, as she'd been told. "Hi, TD." The privilege of using his nickname brought a flush of pride.
"Hello, Leah." He slid his hand into her hair, cupping the curve of her forehead. He wore no watch or jewelry; Janie had informed Leah that his energy sometimes conducted an electric charge, and metal could shock him. "Good morning, Nancy."
Nancy smiled, blushing. "Hi, Teacher."
He ducked into the bathroom, then backed out almost immediately. Leah and Nancy went stiff. He spoke very quietly. "Which one of you is bleeding?"
Nancy's knees buckled, but she caught herself before she fell.
Leah found her voice first. "I'm sorry?"
"There's a menstrual pad in my trash can." He placed a hand on the back of her neck, firmly, and guided her into the bathroom. "There," he said softly, almost lovingly. "Do you see?"
Leah nodded.
"It throws off my energy when I'm in the presence of a woman who's bleeding. We've talked about that. Now, which one of you is bleeding?"
Nancy's nose had gone red, presaging her tears. Her lips looked swollen and cracked.
TD's voice stayed perfectly calm. "Should we call Randall and Skate in here to help you look?"
Nancy was crying now, her terror contagious. She opened her mouth to speak, but Leah cut her off. "Mine."
TD nodded once, languidly, then walked to the door and knuckled it open. He called across the clearing for Stanley John and Skate, and almost at once Leah heard the mod door bang open. Footsteps sounded on the porch. The men halted dutifully outside.
"Skate, come in please."
Skate shuffled through the door. TD lifted the necklace off over his head, the beads knocking against the silver key.
Leah's mouth went dry; her voice came thin and high. "Oh, no. Please, no."
Nancy looked as though she might pass out. "Dr. TD, I -"
He held a finger to his lips and shushed her. "Nancy, I'm putting you on a word diet for the day. And I want you to leave. Do you understand?"
She nodded, mouth sealed, then exited. The dogs reacted to her violently on the porch, but Skate shouted out a command and they silenced.
Leah felt the blood rushing to her face. "Please don't put me in there. I'm sorry."
TD beckoned Stanley John with two fingers. He stepped inside, running a hand through his lank brown hair, which fell back perfectly along the part. He was the kind of guy the girls at Pepperdine had found attractive – strong jaw, perfect teeth, pronounced brow. He cast a concerned eye at the Teacher. "What's the prob, TD?"
"She's bleeding."
"C'mon, Leah. You know better than that. Now, don't you?"
She tried not to shake. "Well, actually, I was never told. I just finished my period, actually, so I wasn't really -"
"Oh, I think you know how to take accountability better than that, don't you?" Keeping his eyes on Leah, Stanley John extended his hand. TD lowered the necklace into his palm, the copper wires gleaming through the beads.
Leah studied her shoes, her face burning.
TD placed his ageless face before hers. "The Program ensures you'll have a steep learning curve, even if the learning isn't always fun."
Her head sank, her shoulders drooped. If she could have melted into the floorboards, she would have.
"You said last session that your parents think you don't listen. After your real dad died of cancer, you didn't fit in well with your new family."
She looked away to hide her welling tears. "Yes."
"Sound familiar? You not fitting in?"
Moisture on her cheeks. Shame burning like an infection. "Yes."
He placed his hands softly on her cheeks until she raised her eyes. "Your acting out like this isn't going to get you the kind of attention you're seeking."
"I know. It's my Old Programming."
"What do you feel?"
She wiped her tears. "That no matter what I say, you'll be disappointed with me."
"Don't you see that's a self-fulfilling prophecy? You're acting weak, crying like a victim. You're creating in me the very disappointment you're so afraid of."
Her thoughts pulled in ten directions at once. "I don't mean to do that. That's not what I meant to do."
"Don't worry, Leah." He stroked her face gently. "TD will break you of this habit. We'll get you fixed. Okay?"
Her head barely moved. Up, down, up.
Stanley John led her out. She felt dead inside, as if she'd withered away and her body was walking of its own volition. When they reached the oval of grass, the others stopped their gardening and playing and talking and stared, reading the situation from the expression on her face. When Stanley John started up the steep paved road toward the empty treatment wing of the preceding adolescent facility, there could be no doubt.
Two girls playing Frisbee stopped and called out admonitions. Janie's husband, Chris, the chubby Webmaster for The Program's incipient site, stopped flipping burgers in the barbecue pit and stared at Leah disapprovingly, one hand perched possessively on Janie's hourglass waist. Janie, looking even more youthful and pretty beside her balding husband, was shaking her head, knowing she'd face chastisement for Leah's failure. A group of people near the picnic tables whispered and pointed. Nancy stood among them, drunk with relief, seeming gleeful that the focus had been turned away from her. Her face still carried the pink stains of her earlier crying. Leah had lied to protect her, and she'd been repaid with derision. She felt too numb to hate Nancy. All she felt was her own shame at deceiving TD, at denying Nancy her rightful lesson. Clearly, Leah was getting what she deserved now.
The others started streaming over in twos and threes, following Stanley John and Leah up the hill toward the treatment wing. Leah could barely walk; her legs had gone weak with anticipation. Stanley John stopped her about thirty yards from the doors.
He walked ahead, fishing for keys in his pocket, as Leah felt the crowd swarm up behind her. The fabric of her shirt, pasted to her chest, fluttered with her heartbeat. Her rash, which stretched from her breasts to her clavicle, burned and itched. She closed her eyes against the snatches of conversation.
About thirty of them lined up on either side of her, forming a path to the front door, which Stanley John held open. Her breathing shallow and rapid, she started forward on tingling legs. The first girl on her right pinched her on the back of her arm, hard. Chris squeezed the soft skin of her left arm, twisting, a satisfied grin on his thick lips. Janie, fresh and vibrant, waited her turn beside him. Leah bit her cheek to keep from crying out as hand after hand reached out to nip the tender flesh at the back of her ar
ms.
Janie leaned in close, her brown hair drifting like parted drapes. "This is your experience. You can make of it what you want."
Leah tried to mouth her thanks, but the next sets of hands were on her, and she had to clamp her jaw to keep from crying out. She wanted desperately to break into a run, but if she tried to flee, she'd have to walk the Wellness Train all over again. She forced herself to step, pause, step, like a bride moving to the altar. Finally she couldn't help herself, and she started to pull away from the grasping fingers, elbows tucking to her waist. Her face was hot and slick with tears. Everyone was cheering and yelling. Nancy gripped her skin but didn't squeeze; her eyes were sad and horrified. Two new guys at the end eagerly awaited their turn. They grabbed the now-purple flesh and squeezed until Leah yelped, a small, throaty noise lost in the roar of the crowd. The guy on the right studied her face, an erection bulging in his shorts.
She stepped past them, her arms on fire, the rash on her chest seething beneath her sweat-drenched shirt. Stanley John took her by the shoulders and turned her around so she faced back up the aisle.
Everyone burst into applause for her.
"Way to go, Leah!"
"Atta girl!"
"No pain no gain."
Satiated, they dispersed, joking and talking about dinner.
Stanley John unlocked the door and led her in. She cupped the swollen backs of her arms in her hands. The pain continued to smolder within them, a deep-tissue burn.
"You'll have five hours of treatment."
A blast of denial hit her. "Five hours? I can't make it through five hours."
"You doubt yourself? You know what? I'm gonna prove to you that you can make it six hours."
They reached the Growth Room. He turned the key in the lock, guided her inside. "I want you to meditate on your negativity. We don't have room for it up here. And I want you to think about how self-impeding you were to question Teachings. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"I want you to stay in there until you decline to exercise the option called weakness."
She heard the muffled thunk of the dead bolt as it slid home.