An usher hurried over. “Yes, Bishop?”

“Son, you ran away so fast when you seated us, I didn’t have time to put in my order.”

“I’m sorry, Bishop.”

“Being sorry won’t get you into Heaven. Get happy, son. Get that old spring into your step and stay on your toes. Same thing all around, folks? Fine!” He gave the order and added, “and bring me back a handful of my cigars—just ask the chief barkeep.”

“Right away, Bishop.”

“Bless you, son. Hold it—” The head of the snake dance was just about to pass under them; Boone leaned over the rail, made a megaphone of his hands and cut through the high noise level. “Dawn! Hey, Dawn!” A woman looked up; he caught her eye, motioned her to come up. She smiled. “Add a whiskey sour to that order. Fly.”

The woman showed up quickly, as did the drinks. Boone swung a seat out of the box’s back row and put it cornerwise in front of him so that she could visit more easily. “Folks, meet Miss Dawn Ardent. M’dear, that’s Miss Boardman, the little lady down in the corner—and this is the famous Doctor Jubal Harshaw here by me—”

“Really? Doctor, I think your stories are simply divine!”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, I really do. I put one of your tapes on my player and let it lull me to sleep almost every night.”

“Higher praise a writer cannot expect,” Jubal said with a straight face.

“That’s enough, Dawn,” put in Boone. “The young man sitting between them is . . . Mr. Valentine Smith the Man from Mars.”

Her eyes came open wider as her mouth opened. “Oh, my goodness!”

Boone roared. “Bless you, child! I guess I really snuck up on you that time.”

She said, “Are you really the Man from Mars?”

“Yes, Miss Dawn Ardent.”

“Just call me ‘Dawn.’ Oh, goodness!”

Boone patted her hand. “Don’t you know it’s a sin to doubt the word of a Bishop? M’dear, how would you like to help lead the Man from Mars to the light?”

“Oh, I’d love it!”

(You certainly would, you sleek bitch! Jill said to herself.) She had been growing increasingly angry ever since Miss Ardent had joined them. The dress the woman was wearing was long sleeved, high necked, and opaque—and covered nothing. It was a knit fabric almost exactly the shade of her tanned skin and Jill was certain that skin was all there was under it—other than Miss Ardent, which was really quite a lot, in all departments. The dress was ostentatiously modest compared with the extreme styles worn by many of the female half of the congregation, some of whom, in the snake dance, seemed about to jounce out of their clothes.

Jill thought that, despite being dressed, Miss Ardent looked as if she had just wiggled out of bed and was anxious to crawl back in. With Mike. Quit squirming your carcass at him, you cheap hussy!

Boone said, “I’ll speak to the Supreme Bishop about it, m’dear. Now you’d better get back downstairs and lead that parade. Jug needs your help.”

She stood up obediently. “Yes, Bishop. Pleased to meet you, Doctor, and Miss Broad. I hope I’ll see you again, Mr. Smith. I’ll pray for you.” She undulated away.

“A fine girl, that,” Boone said happily. “Ever catch her act, Doctor?”

“I think not. What does she do?”

Boone seemed unable to believe his ears. “You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Didn’t you hear her name? That’s Dawn Ardent—she’s simply the highest paid peeler in all Baja California, that’s who she is. Men have committed suicide over her—very sad. Works under an irised spotlight and by the time she’s down to her shoes, the light is just on her face and you really can’t see anything else. Very effective. Highly spiritual. Would you believe it, looking at that sweet face now, that she used to be a most immoral woman?”

“I can’t believe it.”

“Well, she was. Ask her. She’ll tell you. Better yet, come to a cleansing for seekers—I’ll let you know when she’s going to be on. When she confesses, it gives other women courage to stand up and tell about their sins. She doesn’t hold anything back—and, of course, it does her good, too, to know that she’s helping other people. Very dedicated woman now—flies her own car up here every Saturday night right after her last show, so as to be here in time to teach Sunday School. She teaches the Young Men’s Happiness Class and attendance has more than tripled since she took over.”

“I can believe that,” Jubal agreed. “How old are these lucky ‘Young Men’?”