Blasphemy: New and Selected Stories

IDOLATRY

Marie waited for hours. That was okay. She was Indian and everything Indian — powwows, funerals, and weddings — required patience. This audition wasn’t Indian, but she was ready when they called her name.

“What are you going to sing?” the British man asked.

“Patsy Cline,” she said.

“Let’s hear it.”

She’d only sung the first verse before he stopped her.

“You are a terrible singer,” he said. “Never sing again.”

She knew this moment would be broadcast on national television. She’d already agreed to accept any humiliation.

“But my friends, my voice coaches, my mother, they all say I’m great.”

“They lied.”

How many songs had Marie sung in her life? How many lies had she been told? On camera, Marie did the cruel math, rushed into the green room, and wept in her mother’s arms.

In this world, we must love the liars or go unloved.