Chapter 2: Pastor Leon

Pastor Leon, ever the charismatic leader, made all the difference to the group dynamics. He was consistently the voice of reason.

I’d arrived with Herbert thinking to save my daughter from a twisted individual who had corrupted, brainwashed and objectified her.

When Spot first insisted she was living exactly how she wanted to live, I didn’t believe her for a second.

It was pastor Leon who pointed out what an honest child she had been. Disruptive, sneaky, willful, even a little lazy at times, but honest and willing to own up to her mistakes. It was the pastor who was willing to listen to Spot talk about the choices she’d made that had led to where she was in her life now.

Steve, on the other hand, was another matter. I immediately disliked him. He was obviously rich and as such, clearly thought normal rules didn’t apply to him and he could treat Spot like he did, without reproach.

When he explained that he only wanted to give my daughter the lifestyle she had sought, I didn’t believe him for a second. I knew how men like Steve are.

They want what they want and justify their base urges in any way that’s convenient. He probably felt like he’d won the lottery with my poor misguided Spot telling him what she thought he wanted to hear, then too afraid to stand up for herself now that it was too late. Yes I despised him, but my tongue civil.

Pastor Leon directed a number of questions to him, to which he received answers that sounded sincere but must have been well rehearsed. I didn’t doubt for a minute that Steve had spent an age attempting to guess the sorts of things he’d be asked, so that he could pretend he’d never imagined such questions would be asked. I’ll give Steve credit for his acting. But then he was the Director of a production company, after all.

One of Steve’s answers still managed to stand out to me, despite my dismissing most of his others. He said he was so used to Spot’s chosen lifestyle that he didn’t see anything amiss with how my daughter was acting. As if it was quite normal for him to be in the presence of a young woman who preferred to crawl around on all fours with a pair of fake dog ears and a tail attached to her person.

It had to be all lies for the pastor’s benefit. No reasonable person could ever really become so accustomed to another acting in such a way without expecting repercussions unless they were like Herbert and I, but we had been married so long that I’d long since resigned myself to his flaws and I no longer really saw them. Also, Steve and Spot were nothing like us!

The meal itself was served by a real waiter in full livery. He placed what was clearly a Sterling silver dog bowl at one of the place settings and Spot climbed onto a platform instead of sitting in a chair. The platform allowed her to kneel with the bowl at just the right height to eat from without using utensils.

I imagined the rush of sinful power Steve must have felt, gleefully insisting Spot demean herself by placing herself on display like that in front of her own parents as if to show us how pathetic he thought our daughter was.

I smiled while mentally pledging to see him get his comeuppance! I know he wanted us to mistake his gloating self-importance as encouragement towards Spot, but that was because he gave us no credit for our intelligence.

We were all given water and wine glasses, the wine (a red) was delicious. Spot had a smaller Stirling bowl like one to dip fingers in, that she used instead of a water glass. She had no wine at all.

Pastor Leon said grace before the first course which was course soup and each of our bowls steamed except Spot’s. The waiter had ladeled her soup from out of a second serving dish on his serving cart.

While we ate with spoons especially designed for soup, Spot delicately slurped at hers, so carefully in fact, that not a drop of soup touched her chin and the slurping noises were kept to a minimum. She was even able to maintain a conversation while she ate (drank?).

As our bowls were removed, so was Spot’s, to be replaced by a second, identical bowl. While we were served our main course, Spot waited patiently and was served last. She had the same prime rib, vegetable and potatoes as us, but cut into tiny pieces and carefully arranged in the bowl she would eat from.

It was extremely difficult to allow this meal to continue as though we were having a regular family meal. Despite Spot participating in conversation as though she was at home with us, every few minutes I wanted to call a halt to the farce where no one verbally took offense to the way she was eating. She had hands under her mittens. Why could she not use silverware to eat like a regular person?

It was pastor Leon who pointed out that Spot was making less noise eating without hands than we were, our silverware clattering and scraping against the fine china we were eating from. It rankled that the pastor was so accepting of this debacle.