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Authors: Mary Kennedy
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been broken a few times. His beefy arms were bulging out of his black Team Sanjay T-shirt, and I couldn’t take my eyes off his neck. It was as thick as a sequoia and decorated with a creepy weird tat that looked like a forest of kudzu vines gone wild.
“The guru and I bonded with each other,” I went on quickly, “and he was going to explain more of his metaphysical theories to me. Today. At this workshop.”
My stomach was pricking with anxiety, and I tried to ignore the stream of pure adrenaline shooting through me. If this Neanderthal wouldn’t let me in, how would I ever gather any information?
“Do we have a late arrival?” A tall woman dressed from head to toe in navy blue polyester appeared behind him. A navy pillbox hat balanced tipsily on her frizzy gray hair, and she looked ghostly pale, either because she was grief stricken or because she wasn’t wearing a smidgen of makeup. She pushed past bouncer guy to give me a quick once-over. From the pinched expression on her face I could tell she didn’t like what she saw.
She was pretty hefty and looked as if she had bought out the entire “slimming collection” from the Home Shopping Channel. Not a natural fiber anywhere on her body.
I hoped no one lit a match around her—she’d go up in flames like a human torch.
“Maggie Walsh from WYME,” I said quickly. I extended my hand, and she reluctantly shook it. A hint of alarm registered in her eyes, but she said quietly, “I’ll handle this, Bruno,” waving the thug away. I tried to peer into the ballroom, but she closed the door behind her and stepped into the hallway.
“Is there something I can help you with? I’m Miriam Dobosh, executive assistant to Guru Sanjay.”
Miriam Dobosh! I had hit pay dirt on the very first try. An amazing piece of luck. The detective gods were with me.
“I just have a few questions to ask you,” I said, gesturing to a pair of cushy wicker armchairs arranged in a conversation nook a few feet away. I whipped out a notebook and pen before she could change her mind.
“We’re right in the middle of a seminar—”
“It’ll only take a second, honest!” I put on my most winning smile, but I knew that this was going to be a hard sell. “We’re putting together a eulogy for the guru—”
“A eulogy? That’s for dead people,” she snapped.
“Sorry, I meant to say a retrospective.” I paused for a beat, and she lowered herself into the chair next to me. “I just wanted to get a few quotes from you. Something that the guru’s followers would want to know—you know, a personal anecdote or two. I’m sure you have some wonderful memories of him.”
I pulled out my tape recorder and slid it onto the coffee table in front of us.
“I’ll be taking notes as well; this is just to refresh my memory,” I said, catching her frown. I know that people feel intimidated when you whip out a tape recorder, which is why I never taped my psychotherapy sessions with my clients back in New York. But I thought it might give me some journalistic cred (since my public library card clearly wasn’t cutting it).
Miriam was already drawing away from me, leaning back lightly in her chair with her arms folded over her cushiony chest. Uh-oh. Closed body language. I knew I had to act fast to reassure her or she’d snap shut like a North Atlantic clam.
“I want to make sure I capture every word.” I looked straight into her eyes and hoped that she fell for the bait. The guru’s words preserved for generations to come! Who could resist the offer? Apparently Miriam couldn’t.
“Well, I suppose I could tell you a few things . . .”
I let her ramble on for a few minutes, hoping she didn’t notice that the red light on my tape recorder wasn’t blinking. I’d slapped a WYME sticker on it so it would look official but never remembered to buy batteries for it.
“In the last five years, Guru Sanjay’s appeal has skyrocketed. He’s made esoteric metaphysical concepts
“The guru and I bonded with each other,” I went on quickly, “and he was going to explain more of his metaphysical theories to me. Today. At this workshop.”
My stomach was pricking with anxiety, and I tried to ignore the stream of pure adrenaline shooting through me. If this Neanderthal wouldn’t let me in, how would I ever gather any information?
“Do we have a late arrival?” A tall woman dressed from head to toe in navy blue polyester appeared behind him. A navy pillbox hat balanced tipsily on her frizzy gray hair, and she looked ghostly pale, either because she was grief stricken or because she wasn’t wearing a smidgen of makeup. She pushed past bouncer guy to give me a quick once-over. From the pinched expression on her face I could tell she didn’t like what she saw.
She was pretty hefty and looked as if she had bought out the entire “slimming collection” from the Home Shopping Channel. Not a natural fiber anywhere on her body.
I hoped no one lit a match around her—she’d go up in flames like a human torch.
“Maggie Walsh from WYME,” I said quickly. I extended my hand, and she reluctantly shook it. A hint of alarm registered in her eyes, but she said quietly, “I’ll handle this, Bruno,” waving the thug away. I tried to peer into the ballroom, but she closed the door behind her and stepped into the hallway.
“Is there something I can help you with? I’m Miriam Dobosh, executive assistant to Guru Sanjay.”
Miriam Dobosh! I had hit pay dirt on the very first try. An amazing piece of luck. The detective gods were with me.
“I just have a few questions to ask you,” I said, gesturing to a pair of cushy wicker armchairs arranged in a conversation nook a few feet away. I whipped out a notebook and pen before she could change her mind.
“We’re right in the middle of a seminar—”
“It’ll only take a second, honest!” I put on my most winning smile, but I knew that this was going to be a hard sell. “We’re putting together a eulogy for the guru—”
“A eulogy? That’s for dead people,” she snapped.
“Sorry, I meant to say a retrospective.” I paused for a beat, and she lowered herself into the chair next to me. “I just wanted to get a few quotes from you. Something that the guru’s followers would want to know—you know, a personal anecdote or two. I’m sure you have some wonderful memories of him.”
I pulled out my tape recorder and slid it onto the coffee table in front of us.
“I’ll be taking notes as well; this is just to refresh my memory,” I said, catching her frown. I know that people feel intimidated when you whip out a tape recorder, which is why I never taped my psychotherapy sessions with my clients back in New York. But I thought it might give me some journalistic cred (since my public library card clearly wasn’t cutting it).
Miriam was already drawing away from me, leaning back lightly in her chair with her arms folded over her cushiony chest. Uh-oh. Closed body language. I knew I had to act fast to reassure her or she’d snap shut like a North Atlantic clam.
“I want to make sure I capture every word.” I looked straight into her eyes and hoped that she fell for the bait. The guru’s words preserved for generations to come! Who could resist the offer? Apparently Miriam couldn’t.
“Well, I suppose I could tell you a few things . . .”
I let her ramble on for a few minutes, hoping she didn’t notice that the red light on my tape recorder wasn’t blinking. I’d slapped a WYME sticker on it so it would look official but never remembered to buy batteries for it.
“In the last five years, Guru Sanjay’s appeal has skyrocketed. He’s made esoteric metaphysical concepts
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