After a sleepless night the Rev. Ira Levin watched the dawn reach the San Francisco bay from his penthouse suite. He smiled whenever he thought of his title, "Reverend".  He hadn't gone to seminary to earn it, it came from one of his followers and Ira never bothered to correct them.  The title was as fake as everything else about his church and today, if he wasn't careful, he might have to explain that to the media.  Ira sighed and turned from the window to the darkness that still enveloped his bedroom.  He could barely make out his unmade bed and the small table beside it.  He knew the press conference was due to start soon but he couldn't seem to work up much enthusiasm toward getting ready. He reached up and rubbed  the side of his face, feeling the overnight stubble that would have to be removed before he talked with anyone.

         It wasn't  fair, Ira thought as he peeled off the clothes he'd had on since yesterday morning.  The Brothers of Mars mass suicide in L. A. the day before was going to make it tough on every alterative religion for a long while.  They clearly weren't thinking of anyone else. Now as rumors spread about another cult planning the same exit, Ira found himself the center of a media storm. He knew in the minds of many reporters his religion, The Black Order of Psychic Knowledge, was the most mysterious sect  in the San Francisco area.  Almost nothing had been written about it, no one outside of the members even knew what the beliefs were. For years Ira had carefully kept the Order in the cult background.  Quietly amassing followers, the membership grew until it could afford the skyscraper headquarters atop which his penthouse resided. Now, because of a few weak minded sheep, Ira's whole world threatened to topple. Ira shook his head and stepped into the shower. As the hot water pulsated the length of his body from three different nozzles and three different directions Ira wondered how much he could tell the press without destroing  his life.

     Ira never shaved while he bathed, he always used the mirror over the basin adjacent to shower stall. He was just finishing when he noticed how haggard he appeared. He wasn't going to fool the press looking like this, he thought rinsing off his razor.  When his eyes returned to the mirror, Ira was startled to see his brother, Adam, standing behind him.

        "I wish you wouldn't sneak up on me like that."

       Adam shrugged and smiled, "Didn't sleep last night?" he asked.

       Ira shook his head.

       " How come?"

        "Nerves. It's been a while since I've held a press conference." Ira sighed, turning off the faucet after filling the basin with ice cold water.

        "Don't make me laugh. You haven't had to face the press as long as I've been here. In fact, I haven't seen you outside of this building lately. You've been working too hard. Why don't you let me do the conference instead." Adam suggested, his hands beginning to knead Ira's neck muscles.

        Shrugging off  Adams grip, Ira bent forward and wet his face with the icy water. He rubbed furiously as if he could erase all the tiredness from it. When he straightened up Adam laughed out loud.

       " Now you look like a lobster."

        Ira stared at his reddened complexion, nodding in agreement, "About the news conference, Adam, I'm tired of depending on you to substitute for me every time I find myself in a uncomfortable situation."

      "What's so uncomfortable about a press conference?"

       "I'm afraid they'll want certain details about our history." Ira replied, reaching for the hand towel on the rack beside the sink.

       "This conference wasn't your idea?"

        Drying his face, Ira answered firmly, "No. It wasn't."

        " Know why the press wants to talk to you?"

        Ira nodded, "They're talking to all the alternative religious leaders in the area because of the damned Brothers of Mars mass suicide in L.A. They got a tip one of us is planning the same thing."

       Adam grinned slyly, "They wouldn't be worried if they knew how this church got it's start."

       Ira replaced the towel and smiled at Adam's reflection, "That it all began in college when a gorgeous girl asked me why I wore the same black clothes on our second date that I had on our first."

       "Your answer was so imaginative, Ira."  Adam laughed.

       "Adam I admit, I was resourceful back in the day. And the look on her face when I told her that black absorbed the light which acted like a battery suppling much needed energy to my psychic abilities. She was so solemn, I almost laughed out loud. I'm  still amazed she believed me. It's  so transparent, I thought she'd see right though it."

      "How could she not take you seriously, Ira? You proved it a second later by reading her mind. And then suggested that by wearing only black she, too, could read minds and predict the future "

      "That was a 'cold reading' trick I'd learned from the magician living next door to the studio. I didn't know she was going to run with it." Ira sighed, fidgeting with the towel as if getting it straight the most important thing in the world.

     "Ira, you were so convincing that girl still comes to Friday night meetings. I just don't understand why you  didn't just tell her the truth."

    "She was easy to fool and--I was embarrassed to admit the black pants and shirt were the same ones I always wore in public. They were the only clothes I had that weren't splattered with paint. The art scholarship just barely covered art supplies and rent on the studio. There wasn't any money left over for new clothes or real food. No meat or dairy, just fruit, vegetables, water."

    "When she asked about your diet, were you also too embarrassed to tell her that you couldn't afford proper food?"

     Ira's attention returned to the mirror and caught Adam's gaze, "Yes. What else could I do? I liked her, Adam, and you weren't there to deal with 'situations' for me. After I told her lies about my clothes and diet, she thought my lifestyle helped my spiritual life. She thought I was someone special."

    "I understand that Ira, I really do. Everyone wants an admirer. But when she began dragging friends to the studio while you were trying to paint, just so you could predict their future, wasn't that the time to tell the truth?"

   "Of course, when they disrupted my work I wanted to tell them...but.."

   "...they started bringing others who gave you money to tell your new age tales..."

   "...more money than I could make painting. I kept adding more revelations concerning this 'new religion' based on wearing black and eating vegetables, to keep them coming back and the money coming in. I'm not proud I lied and sacrificed my life's ambition for money." Ira brushed a lock of russet hair back from his forehead.

   Adam rested his hands on Ira's shoulders, "Don't blame yourself, bro. You were broke and they were throwing serious money around."

   "Serious enough to buy this office building and established our little group as one of the biggest alterative churches in San Francisco. It happened so fast, I was overwhelmed..."

   "But it turned out ok. You called me and I came to help." Adam gave Ira's shoulders a squeeze.

    Ira's expression became frightened and he blurted out, "Adam, you're right, I've never faced the press. I don't know what to say after I've reassured them our church isn't a strange cult whose members will commit suicide on command. That's not enough of a story. The press loves a hint of scandal. They'll challenge me on how we got started, why we wear nothing but black...I'll crack under that kind of pressure. When I think of the people who depend on the church for their faith! This--" Ira yanked on the collar of his black shirt, "is all they believe in. How will they react when they find out it's all a lie?" Ira's eyes filled with horror.

   "Come on, Ira. We're the only ones that know the truth, the only way they'll get it is if one of us talks. If you can't manage them, I can. Let me take care of this." Adam said gently.

   "They won't know you're not me?"

   "Have they ever?" Adam said, shoving Ira's shoulder playfully.

    Ira shook his head and sighed, "All right."

   "Before I do this, what do you think of giving the press an exclusive, you know, to distract them from asking about our past."

   Ira gave him a doubtful look, "What kind of exclusive?"

  "That you've had a revelation--we don't need to wear black--"

   Ira didn't know why, but he resisted the idea, "No. No exclusive, just answer their questions."

   "Come on, Ira. Aren't you tired of black?"

   Ira couldn't tell Adam why he needed to wear black, so he lied, "I don't think we should call further attention to ourselves right now. It's getting late, you should be out there when the press arrives."

  "Ok. Lets do it."

   Ira closed his eyes, took a deep breath and held it a minute. Then exhaling slowly, he opened his eyes and gazed at his reflection, relieved to see Adam smiling back.  After brushing away the lock of hair that perpetually fell across his forehead,  Adam  turned from the mirror and entered his suite.

   After the conference, Ira was back in front of the same window watching the setting sun turn the bay golden. Though relieved that Adam had conducted the press conference with his usual aplomb, Ira couldn't help feeling disappointed he'd allowed Adam to save their church. As Adam spoke, Ira was reminded of when he was just an artist, just Ira, without  followers  to worry about. Then when Adam explain why they wore black, it occurred to him, that, for once, Adam wasn't speaking for them both. As Adam's words echoed in his ears and died away, Ira knew reason he couldn't give up wearing black. Surprisingly, it had nothing to do with embarrassment or phony psychic ability; he was simply in mourning for a dream that died long ago. That's why Ira Levin wore black.
Why Ira Levin Wore Black